


Sow the Fallow Field

by SoManyJacks



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Fluff, Implied Anders/Fenris, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Cassandra Pentaghast/Varric Tethras, Minor Dorian Pavus/Cullen Rutherford, Minor Dorian/Cullen/Hawke, Minor Dorian/Cullen/Iron Bull, Minor Isabela/Merrill - Freeform, Mutual Pining, Polyamory, Slow Burn, Stardew Valley AU, egregious use of agriculture, eventual puppies, no wait come back, past sibling death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-09-22 07:36:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 66,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9592070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoManyJacks/pseuds/SoManyJacks
Summary: Carver makes a snap decision to take over his grandfather's farm. He isn't quite sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn't to fall in love with the village doctor, Felix.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when you play too much Stardew Valley, kids. The 'E' rating is several chapters away. Also someone save me from slow burn hell, please?

“What a dump,” Garrett said, stepping out of the car. He took a few steps toward the cottage, former home of their late grandfather, Aristide Amell.

“It’s not a dump. It’s… rustic,” Carver objected.

It was absolutely a dump. The siding was shedding paint peels aggressively, and there were patches of moss growing on the porch. Carver stepped on the bottom stair and the rotten wood gave way with a crunch.

Garrett snorted but didn’t say anything. The second step held, and after a brief struggle with the lock, Carver opened the door and went inside.

“Sweet Andraste. No wonder you couldn’t get a realtor to touch this place,” Garrett said.

“It’s not that bad,” Carver disagreed automatically. In this case, he was almost right: the interior of the farmhouse was dusty, but not dilapidated. There was a table and chair, an empty bed frame, a couple of kitchen cabinets clustered around a deep ceramic sink, and a pot bellied wood stove. Despite the dust, it was obvious that their grandfather had taken good care of the place. The elements had taken their toll on the outside, but the inside was almost untouched from when Amell had passed away, three years ago.

Carver’s grandfather had left a sizeable inheritance to his daughter and grandsons. Not a fortune, but it was in the six figure range. The bulk of the cash had gone to Leandra and Garrett. Carver had inherited a small lump sum, enough to pay off the dregs of his student loans, as well as the Amell farm property itself, almost fifty acres of land on the outskirts of a tiny hamlet.

On paper, it was equal in value to the share received by his mother and brother. Amell had set up a trust to pay for the property taxes for three years outright, and thereafter only if Carver took occupancy. Carver still wasn’t sure how that worked. His mother had urged him to sell it immediately, but Carver had sat on the papers; dealing with lawyers and estate agents just made him tired. He’d sent a realtor to evaluate the place, who recommended tearing down the home and carving the property into building lots. But since Amell died, the housing market had tanked, and suddenly the development rights were less valuable. Oh, he could make money, but not as much as if he’d taken care of it right away, and there would be a lot more work involved. It figured. And of course mother had been insufferable about it. There were few things Carver hated hearing more than “I told you so.”

There were four months left until he had to make a decision or get stuck with a whopping tax bill. So he and Garrett had come to check the place out in person, maybe see if the cottage could be rented or something until Carver could sell it.

Though Amell had come to have some limited contact with his family in the years before his death, they weren’t exactly close. Neither Leandra nor her children had ever visited Amell’s farm, a half-day’s drive from Kirkwall.

Carver looked around the room, trying to reconcile his memory of the man with the surroundings. It was old-fashioned, but not uncomfortable, and not a lick of space was wasted. It was the space of someone who was set in his routine, and took pride in his home. “It’s cozy.”

“Cozy?? There’s no kitchen,” Garrett pointed out. “There’s not even a fridge. You’ll never be able to rent it like this.”

Carver said nothing rather than admit his brother was correct. He stepped into the bathroom. There was a clawfoot tub, commode, and a little sink.

“No shower,” Garrett helpfully supplied, looking over his shoulder.

“Let’s check out the cellar,” Carver said, pushing past him.

The cellar was damp but not wet. “Hot water heater is in good shape,” Carver noted. “And the sump pump.”

“Ugh, but look at this wiring.” Garrett shone his flashlight to the joists. “Knob and tube. Good lord, is that a fuse box? With fuses?” He hurried over to examine it.

“I’m going to check out the shed,” Carver said, ignoring him.

It was a challenge, it being late January. At least it was sunny. Carver tromped around the back of the house towards the tool shed, feet crunching in the snow.

As with the cottage, the shed was tiny and tidy. It was crammed with tools, each hung on individual hooks, everything in its place. Another wall was lined with shallow shelves, packed with glass jars and coffee cans, each with a specific size and shape of nail, nut, screw. The air smelled of rust and oil and sawdust.

Carver just stood there, a long minute. It was an intensely calming place. Everything in it made sense, or at least it had to Amell. Carver wasn’t sure what some of the tools were, actually. He lifted the lid off what appeared to be a huge bucket with a hand crank, causing a very startled squirrel to leap out and chitter at him, shaking its tail before scampering off. “Sorry,” Carver mumbled.

Behind him, he heard Garrett’s footsteps. “Talking to yourself? Not a good sign, brother.” He leaned on the open door, peering about. “Looks like grandpa had a neat streak. Or a mild case of OCD, who knows.”

“I like it,” Carver said, not sure why he continued to leap to Amell’s defense. It wasn’t like he knew the man.

“Well, I’m freezing,” Garrett said. “I’m going back to the car to warm up.”

Carver nodded, waving him off. “Be there in a minute.”

Let to himself again, Carver stood in the center of the shed. It occurred to him that the shed was his. And all the tools inside it. And the cottage, and the fields and the pine forest, the frozen pond -- all of it. The farm wasn’t some abstract problem he had to solve: it was real, tangible, the product of decades of work and pride, a lifestyle utterly foreign when compared to his own.

He felt… strange. Like he was standing on a balloon about to burst. Like there was something he wasn’t ready to admit yet, almost, almost. Another minute longer, still not knowing why he wasn’t ready to leave, shivering as his breath steamed.

And then it passed. He headed back to the car which was already running, heat roiling out when he opened the door.

Garrett was fiddling on his phone. “Good cell reception, anyway,” he noted. He put the car in reverse and began to back out. “Well, I don’t envy you. Still, I’m sure you can get something for the tools, maybe get an antique dealer to look around --”

“I’m going to come live here,” Carver blurted out, not knowing he was going to say it until he did, and then immediately knowing it was true.

Garrett laughed.

“I’m serious,” Carver said. “I’m going to… take residency or whatever.”

Garrett stopped laughing. He put the car into park and shut it off. “You’re serious.”

“Yeah.” Carver stared out the windshield. When his brother didn’t say anything, he turned and looked, already scowling in challenge. “What?”

“It’s just… how long have you been thinking about this?”

There was none of the mocking tone; Carver was glad for that, at least. Not that he knew how to answer. _Since just now_ made it sound like he was being flighty, and _since Bethany died_ involved going backward in time to before Amell’s death. “You know I’ve… wanted a change,” Carver hedged.

“Yes, but… Carver, this is….” Garrett blinked in shock. “I mean, what will you _do?_ For money?”

“I don’t need much,” Carver said. “The place is free. I’ll trade in my car. I can… farm. Grow vegetables and sell them in the village. Like grandfather did.” It sounded ridiculous, even to him. But it _felt_ right. The feeling that he was standing on a bubble was gone -- it had burst, showering him in fragments of what the future might hold: the taste of coffee in the early morning, the feel of soil under his fingers, the smell of tomato leaves, the sound of cicadas in August. Suddenly it seemed as real as anything else in his life, maybe more.

Garrett was still wide-eyed. Huffing, Carver continued, the ideas taking shape as he gave them voice. “I need to do _something,_ Garrett. I hate my job at JojaCorp. I don’t want to go back to school half-ass my way with night classes, learning to code or whatever. For what? Just so I can land a slightly nicer job and a slightly nicer apartment and drink slightly nicer beer while I watch a slightly bigger TV? I need… to _do_ something.” He wasn’t sure why it was so important to convince his brother; the decision was Carver’s alone.

Garrett sighed, smoothing his beard with his hand. “You always did like to garden,” he admitted.

He might not have needed his brother’s approval, but Carver would take it. He grinned. “I was a hell of a lot better at it than you were,” Carver said. “Remember the cucumber incident?”

“Oh god, don’t remind me,” Garrett laughed. He turned the car back on. “You really sure about this? You do remember the whole ‘not having a kitchen’ part, right?”

“I’ll get a hot plate and a mini-fridge,” Carver said. “Who knows, maybe I’ll earn enough to fix the place up.”

Garrett snorted as he shifted the car into gear. “I’d say you’re crazy, but Amell did have a suspiciously large amount of money saved away.”

The idea might’ve been simple, but it wasn’t easy to accomplish. Frantic might’ve come closer: Carver had to quit his job, sign a million things for the lawyers, sell practically everything he owned, buy a bunch of _other_ stuff, oh, and learn how to farm.

He had always enjoyed growing vegetables, earning dozens of ribbons at the County fair until he grew old enough to realize having a prize zucchini wouldn’t help him get laid. It had been one of the things he did with Bethany: she grew flowers, he grew veggies. Only she never outgrew it the way he did, and while he stumbled through college with no direction, she took classes in floral design and got a job as a florist straight away. They used to tease each other about it, Carver telling her she’d never make any money, and Bethany reminding him that she was happy and that’s what truly mattered.

And then she died in the car accident, and Carver stopped caring about gardens. He stopped caring about much of anything, for a long time, until he’d forgotten what it felt like.

His mother let Carver know she thought the whole idea was completely impractical. Often. Carver got the impression that she didn’t love him following in her father’s footsteps. There were certainly plenty of old wounds that hadn’t so much healed as scarred over. But that being said, once she realized Carver was serious, she ceased putting up roadblocks and began to worry. In truth, the two were almost indistinguishable, but Carver could tell the difference, and that was what mattered.

Which is how he found himself on March first, pulling into the driveway at the cottage once again, this time in a beat-up truck containing everything he owned.

The snow had melted by then, though there were isolated pockets under the pine trees. The sun shone very bright, and the sky was impossibly blue. Carver got out of the truck, and took a second to just stand there. There was that feeling again, like things weren’t real, or maybe that it was hyper-real, and the last seven years had been a dream.

He walked up the porch, avoiding the bottom step. This time, he knew what to expect when he opened the door. This time, it felt… well, not like home. Not yet. But it was _a_ home, and it would be his eventually.

Carver went back out, hauling the cleaning supplies from the cab of the truck first. No point moving everything in just to have it get filthy. It was mostly just dust and cobwebs anyway. Easier to deal with if the place was empty.

Sure enough, the floor was clean and the corners de-spidered within a half hour. He was just wiping down the inside of the kitchen cabinets when he heard the sound of car tires crunching up the driveway. “What the hell?”

Half-expecting to see Garrett or his mother, Carver instead watched a short, stocky guy with a blond ponytail pull up in an old Jeep. There was a woman with him, a redhead that stood about a head taller.

“Can I help you?” Carver asked. They didn’t look lost.

“Welcoming committee,” the guy said. “I’m Varric Tethras, mayor of this thriving metropolis.” He held out his hand.

Carver shook it. “Carver Hawke.”

“Kinda figured,” Varric said. “Family resemblance and all that.”

The woman dragged a tool box out of the back seat and approached. “Aveline Vallen. Nice to meet you.”

“Er, yeah,” Carver said.

“We came to give you a hand,” Varric explained. “Well, I came to give you a hand. Aveline here is the local carpenter. Came to inspect the place, make sure it’s not going to collapse or burst into flames.”

“Oh,” Carver blinked. Aveline was already squatting down, shining a flashlight at the underside of the porch. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her help, but he hadn’t exactly included a property inspection in his budget. He barely had enough to make it through the next few months. “Um, you don’t have to, er.”

“Already paid for, Junior,” Varric clapped him on the shoulder. “Consider it a house-warming gift. Also, I’ve got a quarter face cord in the Jeep. Assuming you pass the chimney inspection, that is. Should last you through the spring, if you stick around that long.”

Carver realized he was talking about firewood. Maker, he hadn’t thought about that. “Oh, no, that’s fine, I’m sure I can manage --”

“Actually, this one’s not a gift,” Varric said, a hint of guilt working into his voice. “I might’ve... helped myself to the rest of Amell’s firewood when he died. I mean, it’s not like he was using it, right? And if I didn’t take it, the carpenter ants would just eat it. Went to a good cause, though -- we hold a big luau on the beach, so it went towards the bonfire.”

There wasn’t much Carver could say to that, so he just nodded. Varric took that as agreement and started unloading the wood.

Carver realized after a minute that he was just standing there. The whole thing was so weird, but small towns had strange customs. He remembered his mother always took a casserole to any new family that moved to Lothering -- maybe this was just the same? In any event, he went back to what he was doing.

Eventually he realized that Varric had finished unloading wood and was carrying boxes. Before Carver could object, Aveline pulled him aside. “You could use a little more insulation in the attic, but it’s not an emergency. Quite a few boxes up there -- you may want to go through them. I know Amell kept journals; I’m sure you’d hate it if the squirrels got to them first. Chimney looks fine -- not surprised. Amell was good about getting it cleaned. Wiring is a different issue. You’ve only got two 20 amp circuits, and one of them is for the hot water heater, and you have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

Carver had been nodding seriously, which is what he normally did when he was confused. He winced. “I was going to google it as soon as you leave,” he confessed. “Wiring’s not my thing.”

She nodded. “I saw you’ve got a mini-fridge. I’m afraid that’s about all this place can handle. Anything else is off-limits: electric stove, microwave, washer, dryer, none of that. I can re-wire the place for a few grand, if you decide to stay.”

“Er, I’ve just got a hot plate and a kettle,” he said. Damn, he knew the wiring was bad, but not _that_ bad. He’d been planning to pick up some used appliances off Craigslist; the only reason he hadn’t yet was because there was no room on the truck.

She tilted her head back and forth. “Don’t run them at the same time and you should be fine.”

Varric stuck his head in the door. “Hey Junior, give me a hand with the mattress, would ya?”

Carver rushed out to follow him. “Honestly, you don’t need to --”

“Pssh, it’s nothing. Unless you want to drag this thing all by yourself?” Varric hopped into the bed of the truck and pushed the mattress towards him.

“No, but…”

Varric jumped down and hefted his end of the mattress. “Look, Carver. I dunno why you decided to come out here and give this a shot, but you gotta be at least a little nuts, and -- watch the door frame, there we go -- and to me, that’s a good thing. I was good friends with Amell -- we all were -- and it’s the least we can do to help you get settled in.”

They eased the mattress into place on the frame with a _whump_. Carver took a second to rest, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, ok. Thanks. I don’t even have any beer or pizza to offer you.”

The ear-shattering whine of a circular saw cut him off. “What the hell?” He leapt up to look out the window. Aveline was replacing the bottom tread of the stairs, sliding a piece of pressure treated lumber where the rotten wood had been.

Varric put a hand on his arm. “Just let her fix it, Junior. She won’t be able to sleep tonight otherwise.”

As quickly as they had come, they left again a short while later. Carver was reminded of the old fairy tales about the elves who repaired shoes. Still, he had to admit they had saved him a massive amount of work. He was able to get mostly unpacked by the time the sun went down. And he was immensely grateful for the firewood -- without the sun shining through the windows, it got cold, fast.

Carver made a fire in the stove and ate the last of the sandwiches he’d brought, staring into the flames. It was quiet, just the sound of popping wood and the wind rushing through the pines outside. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone so long without hearing the whir of electronics or machines.

His eyelids drooped. God, it was barely 8:30. Still, he’d been up since almost five, and it’d been a long day.

Still, there was one thing left to do. He pulled out his phone and dialed his mother.

“Are you okay?” were the first words out of her mouth.

Carver huffed in frustration. “Hello, mother. I’m fine.”

There was a short sigh of relief on the other end. “Of course you are,” she said with a shaky laugh. “How… how is it?”

“Cozy?” Carver said. “I had help moving in, so I’m nearly settled. I’ve got a fire going, and lit some oil lamps, and I --”

 _“Oil lamps?”_ It wasn’t a screech, but it was close. “Sweet Maker, be careful. There could be a fire, or--”

“Mother. Mom. Mom, it’s fine,” Carver said, talking over her. “I didn’t get all those boy scout patches for nothing, you know.”

Leandra took a deep breath. “Of course. No, I know that. I know you can handle yourself. I just worry.”

As if that wasn’t the understatement of the year. “I know. I promise I’ll be careful. Anyway, I’m exhausted.” Carver didn’t have to fake a yawn.

“I’ll let you go. Call me if you need anything,” she said.

“I will.”

After they hung up, Carver brushed his teeth and clambered into bed. The frame squeaked comically, but it was comfy enough. It was going to be good, this move. He could tell. He was too tired to even talk himself out of his positive mood, falling asleep before he could begin to worry about the road ahead.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver has a few false starts, but he doesn't let it get him down. Now if he could only stop thinking about that cute doctor....

Waking up without an alarm was rare enough, and to do it before 10:30 was almost unheard of for Carver. To awaken at six in the morning, refreshed and eager to go, was a revelation. He made himself some instant coffee and ambled out to the porch to drink it.

It was shaping up to be a gorgeous day. The sky was just losing the rosy glow of the sunrise, and there wasn’t a cloud to be seen. Birds were making an absolute racket in the trees. Carver tried to pick out some of the calls -- crows, chickadees, and… a cardinal, maybe? It had been a long time since he’d earned that particular merit badge in boy scouts, but Carver was sure it’d come back to him.

He felt amazing. Normally, he’d start his Monday by snoozing his alarm till the last possible second. He’d take a shower he wouldn’t remember later, ‘treat’ himself to an overpriced, overly-sweet chai latte that he convinced himself he deserved, and shuffle to his shared cubicle at work as late as he could without getting called out by the boss.

Carver laughed in delight at his new normal, earning him a tirade from the chipmunks scurrying under the porch. “Oh keep your pants on,” he muttered. “I live here now.”

That just made him laugh again. He _lived_ here. This was _his_ house. His _farm._ Why the hell hadn’t he thought to do this sooner?

His phone rang, the digital tones all the more startling for being so out of place. “Amell farm, Carver Hawke speaking.”

There was a miniscule pause. “Holy shit, you’re awake,” Hawke said, his voice rusty from sleep. “I can’t believe it.”

“Wholesome living, brother,” Carver said, in his most sanctimonious tone. “You should try it sometime.”

Hawke snorted. “Well hell. I was all set to leave you a snotty message. You’ve ruined it.”

“I’m not the least sorry.”

“Are you ever?” There was a pause and a quiet grunt, as Hawke presumably sat up in bed. “So? How is it?”

It was hard to know where to start. He couldn’t begin to explain about how right it felt, even if he wanted to share that, which he didn’t. “Weird,” Carver said finally. He told Hawke about his visit from Varric and Aveline.

“He must really need your vote,” Garrett yawned. “Well, I’m going back to sleep. I give you a week, tops. No kitchen, strangers at all hours, dealing with dirt and fertilizer and who knows what.”

“I think I’ll make it longer than a week, Garrett,” Carver sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Well that’s six days longer than I would. And, Carver, you know I’m proud of you for doing this, right?”

Carver felt a tug in his chest, but it quickly passed. “Is that your way of getting out of helping me fix this place up?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Garrett said, and hung up.

The first order of business was to see what he had to work with, so Carver made himself another cup of coffee and headed to the shed. It was warm enough to work the soil, so there was no point in waiting -- he could start to till this afternoon, if he wanted.

After a few minutes of poking around, it became obvious that Amell hadn’t been interested in modernization. There was a gas-powered rototiller that looked to be almost as old as Carver, and that was about it for anything motorized. Carver gassed it up and topped off the oil, and it started right up. Hand tools in every shape and size -- that much Carver remembered from his last visit. The squirrel had apparently decided to vacate the bucket thing, and eventually Carver figured out it was a hand-operated washing machine. Well that was good. He didn’t fancy washing his jeans in the sink.

It was what he found behind the shed that gave him pause. Underneath a tarp was a 200-gallon aluminum tank with a spigot at one end, mounted to a cart. “Fucking hell, a water cart, really?” Carver almost laughed. It even said “FURPHY” on the side, though the letters were painted on the tank, not forged into the metal. Carver had seen similar ones in the ‘History of Farming’ display at the fair, but he had no idea they were still being made.

Suddenly, he realized the import of what he was looking at, and his stomach dropped. If Amell had one of these, and used it…. “Oh no,” he whispered. He ran back outside and circled the cottage, looking for any evidence of an irrigation system.

There was a hose bib, but that was it. Unless there was another well on the property? No, Carver would’ve known that. The realtor would’ve told him, or the lawyers.

“Shit,” he hissed, pacing back and forth. He hadn’t even thought about irrigation. He just assumed that Amell had a system in place. Carver hadn’t expected the ‘system’ to involve filling a tank with a hose, and then dragging a fucking cart around. He tentatively grabbed the handles on the front of the cart. He could drag it around, but there was no chance he’d be able to move it when it was full. Carver looked at it closer, and realized it had been retrofitted to be pulled by a pack animal. Maybe Amell had a donkey or mule or something?

There was no way in hell Carver was going to go out and buy a donkey, even if he could afford it. He started to panic. God, how could he have forgotten to plan for irrigation? What business did he have, thinking he was at all suited to this? Just because he’d grown a couple pumpkins as a kid?

It was the thought of having to tell his mother and Garrett that he’d made a mistake that brought him up short. He forced himself to calm down. He didn’t have a pack animal, but he did have a truck. Maybe he could rig up a winch or something. The important thing was that he not give up, not now. Yeah, okay, he’d overlooked something pretty crucial, but he had to at least try to make it work. He reminded himself that Amell had made enough to survive; hell, he’d made enough to save up a small fortune. Why he hadn’t spent any of that money on fixing up the house or making things easier on himself was a mystery, but at the moment it was none of Carver’s concern.

The most immediate concern, in fact, was hunger; Carver’s stomach rumbled loudly. He ate the last two power bars he’d brought from home, then headed into the village for groceries. Varric had assured him that everything he needed could be bought at the local shop, and that there was no need to go to ‘that soulless hell-hole mega-mart’ at the outskirts of town.

Much as he would’ve liked to walk into the village, there was no way he’d be able to carry all his groceries home. Plus he was impatient to start work, and spending most of an hour walking to and from the hamlet seemed like a waste of time. So he drove, parking in front of the general store. Maker, the village was tiny. Like something out of one of those murder mysteries his mother used to watch. Hard to believe places like that still existed.

The shopkeeper, Alistair, was a likeable fellow. He knew all about Carver already, which was a little off-putting, but in a place so small, it had to be expected. Carver bagged the groceries, trying not to wince at the price. The money he saved wouldn’t stretch very far at this rate, especially not if he kept running into unforeseen expenses.

“You fish?” Alistair asked, cutting into Carver’s train of thought.

“Huh?”

“Fishing. You know, pole, lures, hours of unending boredom….” Alistair made a circular motion with his hand, trying to draw Carver out.

“Oh! Yeah. I mean, I’m not nuts about it, but it’s okay,” Carver said.

Alistair beamed. “You should go down to the beach sometime. Blackwall’s our local fisherman. He’s got some buyers someplace, maybe a restaurant in the big city, because he’s always paying good coin for a fresh catch. That... or he’s independently wealthy and obsessed with draining our waterways of fish.” Alistair’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, as if the thought just occurred to him.

Carver felt his ears go hot. Apparently his effort to hide how hard the bill was hitting him was less effective than he’d thought, if Alistair was supplying him with ways to make a few bucks. “Good to know,” he mumbled.

“Happy to help,” Alistair said. A moment later, the friendly smile slid from his face. “Wait, no, I should be encouraging you to buy canned tuna fish here, shouldn’t I? Alistair, you idiot,” he chided himself under his breath.

At that, Carver laughed. “Well seeing as I hate the stuff, I think you’re safe. As long as you keep stocking peanut butter, you’ve got my business.”

“Oh good,” Alistair sighed in relief. “And if you have anything special you want me to order, just let me know.”

Outside the store, he hefted the bags into the back of the truck. Carver glanced into the window of the infirmary next door when motion caught his eye. There was a man in a doctor’s coat, kneeling down to listen to a little kid who was talking animatedly, his tiny hands flailing around. The doctor looked up, his gentle smile still in place as he caught Carver’s eye.

Carver tried to cover the fact he was staring by checking his phone. The doctor continued to look at him, his smile warming. He was attractive, though just what it was that made him so was difficult to pin down. Dark, close-cropped hair, eyes almost black, high cheekbones, glasses perched on the top of his head: none of which could account for the sudden thumping in Carver’s chest. Maybe it was his smile, somehow cheeky and poignant, shy and bold all at the same time. Before Carver could pin it down, the boy tugged the doctor’s sleeve, demanding his full attention.

Aware that he was blushing, Carver hurried off. Maker, it was his first day here, he couldn’t get caught ogling the local doctor, even if he was handsome. Not exactly the impression that Carver was trying to make. And anyway, he hadn’t come here for romance. He’d come for….

It was still difficult to answer that question, even to himself. How and What were easy. Why, not so much.

All he knew was, he was in motion, active, not just in the physical sense, but in every way. Maybe it was the wrong direction, but it was better than stagnation. Even before Bethany died, he was just barely treading water. She’d demonstrated exactly the kind of life he could have -- maybe not the highest paying job in the world, but she was happy -- but Carver had stubbornly stuck his head up his ass. He deserved better than that. A job that would pay well, something that earned him respect, or at least deference. He squandered three years in college with nothing to show for it, convinced the world owed him a living somehow. Even if Beth hadn’t died, he still would’ve ended up floundering, he was pretty sure.

Well he wasn’t floundering now, was he? He was going to do this, and it was going to work. Back at the cottage he put away his groceries and then hauled the cultivator out of the shed. Time to get to it.

Carver’s enthusiasm began to wane around six o’clock. “Fuck!” His shout echoed off the trees as he wrenched the throttle of the cultivator off. “Worthless piece of....” He didn’t bother to finish, instead grunting and kicking a clot of sod.  

He’d been at it for hours, and he’d only managed to till about a tenth of an acre. Carver had optimistically hoped that he’d be able to get an acre done, and would’ve been happy with half that, but this was ridiculous.

The problem was, the land hadn’t been turned regularly in at least four years. The turf which looked so innocuous on the surface had established itself aggressively, and the underpowered rototiller wasn’t heavy enough to make a dent. There was no way in hell he’d be able to hand-till an acre, much less two.

Fuck. He wheeled the tiller back into the shed. It wasn’t till he reached to pull the door shut that he realized he was shaking. He’d completely forgotten to eat lunch.

Carver dragged himself inside. He choked down three peanut butter sandwiches, chewing in grim silence, barely noticing the taste. Maybe he could rent a larger tiller? The nearest equipment rental place was two hours’ drive, which meant he’d need it for an extra day at least, which meant higher fees. Shit.

The sun hadn’t quite set, but the cottage was getting dark. It was very quiet, still too cool for crickets. Carver lit a few lamps, trying not to let the vague unease brushing at the edges of his awareness take hold. He distracted himself the best he could. After dinner he took a bath, something he hadn’t done since he was a little kid. It was surprisingly relaxing after the day out in the field. But eventually the water got cold, and his hands turned into prunes, so he got out. The TV only got two channels -- the weather and some sort of public access channel that had a cooking program. He turned it off after a few minutes. He couldn’t cook anything anyway.

God, was he really thinking about going to bed at 8:00? Carver was exhausted though, so he might as well.

Despite his fatigue, Carver lay in bed for a long time. Eventually the unease caught up with him. It wasn’t like he’d been completely unprepared for the move. He’d spent a massive amount of time and effort in the month before the move, researching soil conditions, making schedules for planting and harvest, estimating yields and market prices. It was the most energy he’d ever put into anything. And it felt _good_. It barely felt like work, even when he was up till one or two in the morning, eyes burning with fatigue.

But with two major setbacks in the first day, it was getting harder to ignore the little voice that told him he was over his head. He didn’t want to listen to that voice, though. He’d spent too much time stagnant; he wouldn’t go back, not yet.

Carver was tempted to get his phone out, poke around online; his mother had gifted him with a very generous data plan. But it was meant to be for emergencies and such, not fucking around.

Well, there was always a surefire method to turn his brain off, at least for a few minutes. His hand slid into his boxers. Within moments he was hard, but getting off proved a challenge. He’d become accustomed to watching porn -- not that he needed it, but like all his old habits, it had become entrenched, an easy out. His mind wouldn’t focus, flitting from image to image, but none held his attention enough to close the deal. After a few moments, he stopped trying, sighing with frustration, and now even more lonely than before.

With a grumble, he flopped on to his stomach, the mattress squeaking loudly. It wasn’t very comfortable, especially with his erection trapped underneath him. Damn, he couldn’t even jerk off properly. There was absolutely nothing but pugnacious will stopping him from picking up his phone and finding a clip to watch. Still, being angry at himself was preferable to the vague worry that had dogged him most of the day.

And it had started so well. Maker, it felt like a week ago that he’d gone into the village for supplies. A sliver of memory jolted through him -- that doctor. Warmth flooded through Carver, and his dick twitched underneath him. He groaned, half in embarrassment. By Andraste, he didn’t even know the guy. And he wasn’t just any doctor, he was the only physician in the village, which meant he was _Carver’s_ doctor now. It was wrong to be thinking about him like this.

Carver’s imagination, meanwhile, had decided to take the ball and run with it. A few seconds ago Carver couldn’t drum up anything to think about, but now he was flooded with imagery. Maybe it was because the doctor had been on his knees when Carver saw him. Easy to imagine him in front of Carver, looking up with those gorgeous eyes, just as shy, just as bold as his smile had been, reaching for Carver’s fly, staring up as the zipper dragged over Carver’s hard dick….

Carver groaned again, twisting around to lay on his back. He would _not_ think about the village doctor while getting off. He slapped at the nightstand, retrieving his phone. The data package was meant for emergencies, and Carver decided this was one. After a brief fumble, he pulled up a porn clip, one with women in it, trying to keep himself from drifting back to thoughts of the doctor. It only took another minute or so, and he spilled into his hand with a grunt.

He dragged himself up to a sitting position, pausing for a long moment before getting up to wash his hands. Dammit. He felt no better than he had twenty minutes ago. Worse, maybe. More pathetic, certainly.

Well, that was bullshit. He pushed the thoughts aside. The whole thing with the doctor he ignored. He had enough to deal with without facing loneliness on top of everything else.

No, what mattered was the farm. Success, in this case, was a low bar. He really only had to make enough to pay for the electric bill, the supplies to keep the farm running, and his own food. Everything else was covered. He was acutely aware that not many people had it that lucky. Which made the prospect of failure even more mortifying.

No. He could do this. Today was bad, yeah, but it was only one hard day. If he couldn’t manage to cultivate this season, maybe he could try something else. A couple of raised beds, at least to grow veggies for himself -- that was feasible. There were a half-dozen old apple trees at the edge of the fields, and a few beehives in the shed. Not to mention plenty of lumber in the forest. Maybe he could barter with firewood, or talk to that fisherman guy. Plenty of options. He’d figure something out. He wasn’t about to give up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if you can get Furphy carts outside of Australia, but that's the wonder of fic, I guess. Also I promise Felix will actually make a real appearance with talking and everything in the next chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver doesn't know what to think of the kindliness of strangers. But he does enjoy meeting the doctor.

The next morning, Carver felt okay. Maybe not as blindly optimistic as yesterday, but neither was he giving in to the enormity of the task ahead. He made himself some eggs and toast, promising himself that he’d cook a proper meal, with vegetables, for dinner.

He was just finishing the washing up when he heard a distant rumble of heavy machinery. Hard to tell -- maybe a helicopter? Whatever it was, it was getting closer.

He went outside to investigate. A tractor trundled up the rutted path that led south from his property, helmed by a woman with short dark hair. She looked like she could give Aveline a run for her money in a staring contest.

There wasn’t much Carver could do but watch as the tractor slowly closed the distance. He hopped down from the porch, meeting the woman at the edge of the field. She threw the brake on the machine, idling it down to a slow ‘putt putt’, the flapper on the exhaust coughing rhythmically.

“Carver Hawke,” she said, pulling off one leather glove and reaching down to shake his hand. “Cassandra Pentaghast. I own the ranch just to the south.”

Carver nodded politely, wondering how to say _what are you doing here_ without actually using those words.

She answered the unspoken question. “I came to till your field. After three years fallow, you cannot hope to do it with that ancient cultivator your grandfather left, if it even started.”

“It started,” Carver said defensively.

“Did it? I should not be surprised. Amell was meticulous with his tools, those he deigned to use.” It was hard to tell if she admired him or thought he was an idiot.

What was more important was that Carver couldn’t hope to offer her anything in return. He cleared his throat. “Er, it’s kind of you to offer, but, ah, I can’t exactly --”

“This is not contingent on reciprocity,” Cassandra said, pulling her glove back on. “It is in my best interest that you succeed. I dislike growing vegetables, and would prefer to purchase them from you than from the monstrosity that calls itself a ‘mega-mart’. If you like, you can repay me by building a chicken coop and buying some hens, once you’ve had a successful harvest. Unless you have already decided to leave?” Her jaw jutted out in challenge.

“Er, no,” he frowned. It was starting to get weird, everyone’s fixation on him leaving.

“Good,” she nodded. “I shall get started.” Cassandra put the tractor into gear.

Carver watched for a minute or so as she lowered the disc plow and began to turn the earth over. He had to admit, it was much faster than he could ever dream to accomplish. Well, there was no point in standing around and watching. She obviously knew what she was doing.

By midday, Cassandra had turned the field over. Carver waved as she drove away, then continued raking the soil into rows. At this rate, he could get at least a few spinach and radish seeds into the ground this afternoon. Things were looking up.

By the time Friday evening had rolled around, Carver was nearly desperate for human contact. Not that he hadn’t seen anyone -- he got a visitor of some sort nearly every day. The day after Cassandra had come by, Blackwall had showed up with a fishing pole, spending most of an hour listing all the good fishing spots in the area, none of which meant anything to Carver. Still, it was a nice gesture. Varric had stopped by again as well, and a woman named Dagna, introducing herself as the local blacksmith and tinker.

But when faced with the solitude of life on the farm, the visits barely made a dent. It wasn’t so much that Carver was a people person, but he was used to near-constant connections to people, even if it was just online. The sudden vacuum was jarring, and there was only so much he could stand listening to himself think. He’d taken to putting the television on in the evenings, just for the background noise.

So by Friday afternoon, he was more than ready to go out. After a wash up, he peered at his reflection in the mirror for the first time in what seemed like days. Should he shave? Probably. Some guys could pull off that scruffy thing, but Carver was all or nothing, a fact which Garrett lorded over him to no end.

Once that was done, he realized he should probably comb his hair. This led to about twenty minutes of him fussing. Carver was way overdue for a haircut, and without any gel or anything, he kept wetting and wetting his hair till it started to drip, finally flinging the comb into the sink. He looked ridiculous. Grabbing the towel, he viciously wiped his head, then combed it through with his fingers. Whatever. He hadn’t spent this much time getting ready to go out since high school.

_It’s not like you have anyone to impress,_ he told himself. Though, what if that doctor was there? He grunted in disgust at himself. “Don’t be stupid,” he muttered.

Rooting through his dresser, he pulled out one of his nicer t-shirts, one that he didn’t work in. Were the sleeves tighter? He’d gotten lazy about working out in the last few years, but his arms were definitely showing more definition. Huh. Almost made up for having to haul the damn water cart around. He shrugged on his denim jacket and headed out.

When he pushed open the doors to the Stardrop Saloon, he wasn’t sure what to expect. There were maybe a half-dozen people milling about, and it was warm and cozy. In a room off the bar he spied a pool table and a couple arcade games, with a few laconic teenagers lounging on the couch, texting.

Varric was at the bar, chatting with the proprietor. “Junior!” He waved Carver over, pulling out the barstool next to him.

Carver slid into the seat. “Hello Mayor,” he nodded.

Varric snorted. “Junior, let’s get one thing straight. I don’t call you ‘farmer’, you don’t call me ‘mayor’, got it?”

“Yeah, okay,” Carver said.

“Now. What’re you having? First one’s on me.”

“Uh, just a beer,” he mumbled. “Whatever’s on tap.” The friendliness was starting to bleed into outright charity.

“You sure? Oghren, get Mister Hawke here a pint.”

The bartender leaned on the bar, giving Carver a once over. “You’re Amell’s grandson, eh? The one he always talked about?”

Carver clenched his jaw. “That was probably my brother, Garrett.”

“Nope,” Oghren said, shaking his head. “I remember the name. Said you’d take over one day, and here you are.” He reached down a pint glass and pulled a beer.

“What, really?” Carver looked at Varric in confusion.

Varric shrugged. “You didn’t talk about it?”

“We didn’t talk at all,” Carver said. “I barely knew him. We only met seven years ago.”

Varric and Oghren exchanged a loaded look. “Well, I dunno what to tell you, Junior. He talked about you and your family all the time.” He drained his own beer and slid the glass across the bar.

“Really?” Dimly, Carver knew it was bad manners to let his surprise show. His mother was not very big on airing out family secrets. Not that her estrangement from Amell was exactly classified information, and they’d patched it up before he died, but still.

Before it got awkward, a woman sidled up. “Well well, this must be new boy.” She clinked her glass against his. There was something intensely magnetic, almost overripe, about her. Perhaps ten years older than Carver, she was poured into her top, her breasts straining against the lacing on her tunic. Her hair was pulled back in a scarf, and a glint of gold shone under her bottom lip. “Isabela. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Carver tried to swallow and failed, choking and coughing. Behind him, the door opened and a few people wandered in. Great, more people to see him making an ass of himself.

Varric pounded Carver on the back. “Alright, Rivaini, lay off the kid.”

“Why should I?” she pouted. “Look at those baby blues.”

It was hard to find a place to look. Carver tried for eye contact, but the glint in the woman’s eye felt dirtier than staring at her breasts. He settled on a spot just over her eyebrows. “Nice to meet you.”

“Oh honey. I’m not _nice,”_ she drawled.

“She’s lying,” Varric said. “She is, in fact, 95% heart of gold.”

Carver saw an opening to redeem himself, and he took it. “Is that by volume or by weight?”

Varric snorted. Isabela grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” She sidled a bit closer.

Back home, Carver would’ve known exactly what to do, and he would’ve done the hell out of Here, though, he was acutely aware that everyone would know what was going on. And more importantly, he looked up to see the doctor, sitting around the far corner of the bar. _Oh god, he’s here._ The man was watching the interaction with mild amusement, that secret smile playing across his face. When he caught Carver looking, he turned his attention back to his wine, though the smile stayed in place.

Isabela caught the exchange, and at once her smile went from lascivious to maternal. “Ooh, I see you’ve already met our good doctor.” She winked, but it was playful.

“Er, I haven’t, actually,” Carver admitted.

“You haven’t? Well that’s easy to fix. Felix! Felix, come here, won’t you?” Isabela called out.

Carver winced. The last thing he wanted to do was call any more attention to himself, and now another three or four people were looking his way.

Including the eponymous Felix. The man was shaking his head, laughing to himself, but he made his way over. “Are you ill, Isabela? Or is it just your sense of tact that’s broken?”

“Oh pssh.” She waved dismissively. “We’re all one big happy family, aren’t we?”

“Are we? That might make some things awkward.” Carver felt himself saying the words and immediately regretted it.

Felix, however, laughed. “Felix Alexius.” He held out his hand.

“Carver Hawke.”

“I know,” Felix admitted. “I’m afraid word travels fast in a village this size. The celebrity should wear off in a few years.”

Carver made a face, and Felix laughed. Carver felt warm all over.

The door opened again, and a few women walked in, followed by the shopkeeper Carver had met earlier in the week. “Oh look, he’s still here!” He rushed over to shake Carver’s hand.

“Why is everyone convinced I’m eager to leave?” Carver asked, looking around in confusion.

“Farming’s a tough game, Junior,” Varric said.

“Honey, come meet Amell’s grandson,” Alistair said, ushering over the woman he’d walked in with. “This is my wife, Solona.”

From that point, some critical threshold was breached, and Carver became the center of attention. People crowded around, and he lost count of how many hands he shook. He even got a hug from a diminutive woman named either Merrill or Kitten or Daisy, depending on who you asked.

Everyone was friendly, but it never got cloying. For a little bit, Felix stood next to him, but then they got separated, and eventually the other man must’ve slipped out, because he was nowhere to be seen.

Not that Carver could go looking. Fresh drinks kept getting pushed into his hand, none of which he paid for. He was a big boy, but after five pints, he had to cry mercy. He had a long walk home, and it wasn’t like he didn’t have things to accomplish tomorrow, Saturday or no.

Varric seemed to sense he was trying to leave, because he started to shoo people away. “Alright, alright, save it for next week. Give the kid a break.”

Carver laughed and slouched to his feet. “Thanks, Varric. For the beer and the - the everything,” he managed, squinting one eye shut.

“Don’t mention it,” Varric said, patting him on the back. “You okay to walk home?”

“Oh sure,” Carver grinned. “I’ll be home before I know it.”

He managed to keep his balance, mostly. There might’ve been a bit more swagger to his gait, but it was dark, and it wasn’t like there was anyone around to see him, anyway.

As he crossed the town square, he spied a light in the back of the infirmary. Carver paused a moment, blinking owlishly a couple of yards outside the circle of light.

Inside, Felix sat at a table, wearing a pair of headphones. His attention was focused on something very small. Head bobbing in time to whatever he was listening to, Felix dipped a feather-fine paintbrush into a pot and began to lay careful strokes on whatever he was holding.

Something about it was familiar, but it took a moment for it to filter through Carver’s ale-soaked memories. And then it hit him: Felix was making a model of… well, Carver couldn’t tell at this distance. A ship, maybe, or a car.

It was ridiculously cute. It would’ve been _too_ cute, if it hadn’t been for the way Felix’s lips began to mouth the words of whatever he was listening to. Looking around to make sure he wasn’t being watched, Carver crept a few paces closer.

Felix began to hum. Carver vaguely recognized the tune, but it was hard to tell without hearing the background music. The humming took shape into lyrics, as Felix let his eyes fall closed, singing along. “You’ll never know how slow the moments go till I’m near to you…. I see your face in every flower, your eyes in stars above, it’s just the thought of you… my love.”

His voice was raspy and unselfconscious. Carver’s chest felt tight, a delicious ache.

And then Felix’s phone rang, loud enough to catch the man’s attention even with the headphones. Carver leapt backward as Felix answered it. “Dorian! Darling, where the hell were you tonight?” His voice was warm and full of laughter and affection.

The ache in Carver’s chest twisted into something unpleasant, and he suddenly realized he was spying on a near-stranger. He spun around, staggering towards home.

_Darling,_ Felix had said. Of course he was seeing someone. Stupid of Carver to think otherwise. It wasn’t as if Felix had done anything more than smile at the new guy. Just being friendly, like the rest of them.

The cottage seemed very empty when Carver got back. He didn’t bother with the lamp, instead feeling his way through the space by the meager moonlight filtering in through the windows. After brushing his teeth and taking a piss, he staggered to bed, only stubbing his toe once.

The beer may or may not have been a good idea, but at the very least it helped Carver to fall asleep fast, and if he dreamed of sparkling eyes and secret smiles, he didn’t remember it in the morning.

***

ETA: So if you were ever having trouble picturing Felix in the context of Stardew Valley, [have I got good news for you](https://suburbanomad.tumblr.com/post/177962867124/one-of-my-very-favorite-things-in-this-entire): the most fabulous Suburbanomad has created these AMAZING portraits of our lovely doctor! Aren't they amazing?? I cannot get over how much I love them. Thanks, Suburbanomad! :D

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize this chapter was really short -- sorry about that! At least we had some actual contact though. I did say 'slow burn' right?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The library is more than it seems, fishing is harder than it looks, and everyone wants Carver to succeed.

There was something to be said for rainy days. For one thing, it meant Carver didn’t have to water the crops. He’d figured out a system to use the water cart by winching it behind the truck, but it was slow and a colossal pain in the ass. It took Carver almost a half day to water the plants, time he could be doing… well anything else, really. 

So the first rainy day was a welcome break. Problem was, there was precious little to do inside the cottage. He donned his raincoat and made a trip to the library, where he found Merrill/Kitten/Daisy working in the stacks. Carver’s only goal had been to take advantage of the free wifi to research how much it would cost to get an irrigation system installed. But the tiny librarian turned out to be talkative.

“Oh! You’re the one Isabela told me about.” She blinked several times in rapid succession. 

“That’s me,” Carver said, forcing a laugh. 

“She said you were handsome.” Merrill nodded solemnly. 

“Um….” Carver scratched his ear, not sure how to answer that.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. She has more of an eye for that sort of thing than I do,” Merrill said, as if that explained everything. “Are you here for a library card? Or to see the museum??” 

“Museum?” Carver meant it as a question -- he hadn’t known there  _ was  _ a museum, but Merrill took it as an answer. She dragged him to the back of the building, where there were a dozen or so dusty display cases. 

It was a hodgepodge, to say the least. Prehistoric artifacts lay next to old toys and chunks of minerals, or as Carver would’ve called them, “really cool rocks”. Everything was labeled in the same neat hand, whether it seemed important or not.

Merrill nattered on without cease, but it was strangely adorable. “History’s so important, don’t you think? And we’re always looking to expand the collection,” she said. “If you find anything, let me know?”

The likelihood of him finding anything in Amell’s farm fields was very low. His grandfather had worked the soil for decades -- it wasn’t likely that Carver would turn over any arrowheads. Still, she was so enthusiastic that Carver couldn’t help but be charmed. “I will,” Carver promised. 

“That’s nice,” she said. “Do you think you’ll stay, then?”

This again. “Is there a betting pool or something, guessing when I’ll give up?”

“Well it is very boring here,” Merrill said. “A lot of people give up on us.”

Something clicked into place, and suddenly Carver got it. He’d been thinking that everyone was expecting him to fail, but apparently they were worried that the town itself wasn’t good enough for  _ him. _ “Don’t worry. I’m not planning on leaving,” he said. 

Merrill relaxed, beaming. “You’ll be wanting a library card, then. I’ll make one up for you.”

He spent the rest of the day making new budgets and plans. It was a sobering exercise. Farming was not a high-profit endeavor. Unless he stumbled on some way to drastically increase his profits, an irrigation system wasn’t in the picture anytime soon. Ah well. He'd manage.

It rained the following day, which added to Carver’s frustration. There wasn’t much he could do while the soil was this wet. It occurred to him that he could give the fishing pole a try. That was a thing, right? Fishing in the rain? He felt like it was one of the things that Blackwall guy had told him. So once again he pulled on his raincoat and headed out. 

He ended up at a spot just upstream of one of the bridges in the village. The rain had abated to a steady drizzle, gentle but soaking. 

Almost immediately, frustration set it. Carver hadn’t been fishing since his father was still alive. It wasn’t like riding a bicycle. First off, baiting the hook with a worm was much more disgusting than he thought. His dad had always done it for him and Bethany, because his sister was too soft-hearted to even attempt it. Father didn’t want her to feel left out, so he did it for both of them. Never mentioned how gross it was, either.

Once Carver managed to get the hook baited, he caught the hook in his sleeve on his first attempt to cast. Then he lost three worms in a row before he realized that he’d neglected to tie a bobber on the line, pulling up only weeds and soggy newspapers for his efforts.

He was struggling to get the damn thing attached, cursing under his breath, when he heard a quiet chuckle behind him. 

Felix was standing a few yards away, under a huge umbrella. “Trouble?” He nodded at the tangle of equipment in Carver’s hands. 

Carver flushed. “It keeps sliding around,” he grumbled.

“Here, let me. Really hard to do with the pole in your hand.” He handed the umbrella to Carver. Deftly, he looped the line around the top and bottom of the bobber, letting the spring inside hold everything snug. “There you go,” he said. He smiled, just as gentle as his voice, his fingers brushing Carver’s as he retrieved the umbrella.

Carver would’ve preferred that his own hands weren’t freezing and covered in worm slime. He also would’ve liked it if they were someplace warm and dry. Oh and it would’ve been fucking nice if he hadn’t just made an enormous fool of himself. That, too.

Not that it mattered.  _ Has a boyfriend, has a boyfriend.  _ “Thanks. Been a while. I, uh, I forgot that part.”

“Let me guess, Blackwall tried to recruit you for his one-man attempt to drive down the local fish population?”

“Something like that.” Carver tilted his head back and forth. 

“Mmm,” Felix nodded, looking out over the water. His lips were no longer smiling, but his eyes still sparkled. “You, ah, might have better luck downstream of the bridge. Garbage tends to collect on this side. There’s a pool of slower-moving water on the downstream part. You might get a few smallmouth bass.”

“Oh. Uh, good to know. You, er, much of a fisherman?”

Felix shrugged. “Not really. Doesn’t stop Blackwall from passing on his wisdom. I mostly come down here to watch the water.”

Carver nodded. “Slow day at the office?”

The sparkle dimmed somewhat. “They’re all slow days,” he sighed. After a moment he gave Carver a tight-lipped grin. “I should be happy that everyone here is so healthy.”

He didn’t look happy. Somehow, seeing the poorly-masked melancholy made Carver’s heart pound faster than the glittering smile. He blinked, mind wiped blank by an overwhelming urge to… Carver wasn’t sure. To everything, maybe. To slide his hands up the man’s cheeks, to kiss him breathless, to push him against a wall and fuck him blind, to go to sleep together and wake up and make sure that melancholy never returned.  _ Boyfriend, boyfriend, has one, you’re not it. _

What came out of Carver’s mouth, eventually, was “Heh, yeah.”  _ Fucking brilliant, you are.  _

“Are you coming to the egg hunt next week?” Felix asked politely.

“Isn’t that a kids thing? Varric invited me, but I don’t know.” 

“It’s an everyone thing,” Felix shrugged. “You should come. Get a chance to meet the rest of us.”

_ Like your boyfriend, probably.  _ “Yeah, okay. Sounds good.”

“Wonderful.” Felix smiled again, for real. “I should head back. Good to see you.” He tipped his head towards his office. “Oh, and Carver?”

“Yeah?” Carver whipped his head around a little too fast.

“Er, just, for next time. You may want to, you know. Bring a bucket. In case you catch anything more than yesterday’s news.” Felix’s grin turned cheeky as he walked away.

With an embarrassed groan, Carver sagged. Felix was completely right -- even if he caught a fish, what was he going to do with it? Put it in his pocket?

Between the rain, the frustration, the solitude, and the hefty dose of embarrassment, Carver couldn’t face the prospect of the walk back to the cottage just yet. He’d gotten a letter from his mother that morning, with some cash in it. Maybe it’d be okay to treat himself to a hot lunch, as long as he put the rest of the money back into the farm, right?

The saloon was quiet in the afternoon. Oghren was behind the bar, and Varric in his customary seat, nursing a cup of coffee and reading. “Hey Junior, catch anything?” He marked the place in his book and set it aside.

“No, but my pride took a hit,” Carver noted.

“You need some nice warm chowder,” Oghren said. “Bread’s just outta the oven, too. How ‘bout it?”

“That sounds good.” Carver slid into the seat next to Varric. “And coffee, if there’s some going.”

“You know, make it two. Soup does sound good right about now,” Varric said, calling after Oghren’s back as the man retreated to the kitchen. “So, how’s it going so far?”

Carver shrugged. “Good? I think? The seedlings are growing like crazy. I should have baby spinach by next week.”

“Ah, fantastic,” Varric said, clapping him on the back. “Good soil out there. Your grandfather grew all sorts of shit -- veggies, fruit, flowers, you name it.”

“Did he?” 

“Yeah, didn’t you read his journals? He wrote everything down, Old Amell.”

Carver had forgotten to look for them. “Aveline mentioned that. I’ve mostly been wondering why he felt the need to do everything the hard way,” Carver grumbled.

Varric laughed. “Yeah, that was him. He was… well… I think he liked simplicity. He never seemed to want more than what he had. Well, materially, anyway.”

Oghren returned with their lunches, setting bowls of soup and most of a loaf of fresh bread down. “This Amell we’re talking? Great hops. Brewed the best pale ale. You should grow some. Weissbier’s all well and good, but I miss that bitterness.” He smacked his lips.

“Hops,” Carver nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.” 

Varric blew gently on a spoonful of soup before tasting it. “Ooh, this is just what the doctor ordered.”

“Doubt it,” Oghren said. “Too much butter. The man’s allergic to fun, you ask me.”

“Who, er, Felix?” Carver tried to sound casual.

“He’s not  _ allergic _ to fun,” Varric said. “It just gives him a mild rash, is all.  _ I  _ think,” Varric said, resolutely addressing his soup, “I think he needs a little exposure therapy. Get him accustomed to having a good time. Small doses and all that.”

“Doesn’t -- er, he have fun with Dorian?” Carver hurriedly shoved a spoonful of soup in his mouth, wincing as he burned his tongue.

Varric turned to him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

“I, ah, thought I heard him mention the name,” Carver lied. “The other night.”

“Uh huh,” Varric nodded skeptically. “Well, I mean, they are best friends, but I think Dorian saves the kind of fun I was talking about for his husband Cullen.”

“Oh!” Carver sat up a little straighter. When he saw Varric’s eyebrow quirk, he tried to correct his course. “Oh  _ that  _ kind of fun. Hah, yeah, I, um. See what you mean.” He grabbed a hunk of bread and began buttering it.

“How’s the soup?” Oghren asked.

Carver was never so grateful for a change in conversation. “So good. I’ve been living off canned stuff.”

“Bah,” Oghren said. “That’s no way to eat. You need real food, not that processed crap.”

“Well I didn’t very well expect to not have a kitchen,” Carver said defensively. “There’s only so much you can do with a hot plate.”

“I tried to get Amell to upgrade the cottage.” Varric shook his head. “He insisted he was just fine with the woodstove.”

“Remember those pickles he used to make? Or that hot pepper jelly?” Oghren grunted in appreciation.

“He made pickles? And jelly??” Carver squinted at the other two men. “Are you joking? How do you make those without a stove?”

Varric laughed. “Pretty sure you only need salt and time to make pickles, Junior. Well, and cucumbers.”

“Cabbage,” Oghren corrected him. “Nothing like sauerkraut and sausages to go with the beer.” He gave a lusty sigh, smacking his lips as his eyes rolled back in his head.

“Or... cabbages,” Varric agreed, giving Carver a look that said  _ I don’t know what that’s about either but let’s not ask.  _ “And for jelly, you only need boiling water and jars.”

Carver made a face. “What about botulism, or… I don’t know… food safety?”

Oghren snorted. “Sonny, people made jam and pickles for thousands of years. Trust me, you’ll know it if it goes bad.”

“Well then why don’t you make it?” Carver wasn’t quite sure why he was aggravated.

“With what? The tasteless crap that passes for vegetables at Jojamart?”

“Oh, well… yeah, that would be kind of pointless,” Carver admitted. He was half-tempted to give it a shot. He’d done enough gardening to know that a lot of the vegetables would be perfectly edible, but also too ugly to sell. Pickling would be a good way to use up that extra produce…. He shook his head. “It’d never work. I’m not my grandfather. He might’ve been happy to fiddle-fart around with the woodstove, but I’ve got better things to do with my time.”

“Tell you what,” Oghren said, wiping down the bar. “You decide you wanna put some stuff up, you can use the kitchen here in the mornings. Long as you promise to find Amell’s sauerkraut recipe.”

“Really?” Carver blinked in surprise.

“Why not?” Oghren shrugged. “I don’t get here till noon. No skin off my nose.”

“Huh. Um, okay,” Carver said, shrugging as well. 

The rain let up, so Carver paid his bill and left, hoping to stay mostly dry on his way home. Or at least not get any more damp than he already was. This was only moderately successful, as the rain hadn’t quite lifted, settling into a fine mist. By the time he reached the cottage, he was shivering. 

It seemed decadent to build a fire in late March, but given that there was no other source of heat in the cottage, he went ahead and did it. Having a crackling flame going not only warmed his body, but cheered him up quite a bit. 

“Well, I guess there’s nothing for it,” he muttered. Amazing how easily he’d gotten used to talking to himself. Carver pulled the hatch to the attic, climbing up the creaking ladder to see what he could find.

The truth was, he hadn’t exactly forgotten to look around up there. More like he deliberately put it off for a few days, and  _ then  _ forgot. 

The idea of looking through his grandfather’s journals bothered him. Not only did it seem like a breach of privacy, there were some things Carver just didn’t want to know. There was a reason he’d only met his grandfather at Bethany’s funeral, after all. 

Garrett used to joke that the latin under their family crest translated to “Please Let’s Just Not Talk About It.” The family seemed eternally poised on the brink of collapse. The happy times were hoarded, few and far between, and the rest just wasn’t spoken about.

Carver’s mother had never gone into specifics about her estrangement from her father, and Carver hadn’t asked. All he knew was that at some point after Malcolm died, Amell had left his second wife and come to live at this cottage. Carver’s default position was to Stay Out Of It. This worked best if he had little-to-no idea what was going on. Going through Amell’s diary was in direct opposition to this stance.

Though he’d have to find it, first. The attic was dim, and he ignored the skittering sound in the rafters. Carver began to rummage through the neatly stacked boxes. The journals were easiest to find. To his relief, they weren’t personal at all, more like ledgers, each page filled top to bottom with planting dates, harvest dates, yields. Another box had a bunch of books about food preservation, including the recipe for Oghren’s beloved sauerkraut. 

By dinnertime, Carver had hauled most of the useful stuff down the ladder, including the books and the farming records. There was a metal box, too, the kind people kept for important documents. Carver only opened it long enough to see that it contained photos and letters before putting it back. 

Whatever was in there, it’d keep. He had what he came for. It was bad enough that everyone in the village couldn’t go three seconds without talking about Amell like some kind of folk hero. He was grateful that Amell had left him the farm -- of course he was -- but Carver wasn’t in a hurry to find out any more than he needed to make this place work. Resurrecting old ghosts wouldn’t help. Not unless they could water the spinach, that is. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look, more talking! Also if you've never read one of my fics before, please keep in mind I am incapable of writing a reliable narrator. So you're just going to have to muddle along with Carver.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver gets a taste of being social.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seeing as this fic is a labor of love, I decided to make it as gay as possible. I've updated the tags with the background ships in case anyone wants to avoid their NOTPs.

The village square was teeming with activity by the time Carver showed up at the egg festival. Pastel banners had been strung from the lamp posts, and little kids zoomed around, no doubt hopped up on chocolate. It was a little wholesome for Carver’s taste, but skipping the event seemed like a bad idea. Best to be neighborly, in a town this small. Plus there was free food.

Carver spied Varric in the crowd. “Sorry I’m late,” Carver said. “Got here as soon as I could.”

“No problem, Junior. The start time’s more of a guideline anyhow. You hungry?” Varric led him to a picnic table groaning with dishes.

Cassandra stood nearby. “You are here at last,” she said, nodding. “Good. I am glad.” Her face remained stony.

“Er,” Carver hedged. “Yeah. Me too?” 

“Don’t let the Ice Queen bit fool you,” Varric said, reaching for a paper plate. “She only gets four smiles a week, so she can’t be just throwing them around.”

Cassandra grunted in frustration. “Just because I don’t act the clown does not mean I am not happy, Varric.” 

Carver was just trying to decide if this was a real argument or not when an unfamiliar voice got his attention. “Ah, look, the newest member of our happy little family. And already mommy and daddy are arguing. Tsk. Makes me miss home.”

A comically handsome man strolled up, shaking his head, though he had a wry grin. His moustache was ridiculous, and yet it somehow worked, matching his perfectly tailored clothes and rich voice. “Dorian Pavus-Rutherford, how do you do?”

“Er, Carver Hawke.” He juggled the plate for a moment before thrusting out his hand.

“Oh, I know,” Dorian said with a wink. “Heard all about our handsome new farmer.”

“Sweet Maker, Dorian, you’ll make him paranoid,” another man said, sidling up behind him. “Cullen Pavus-Rutherford.” 

For fuck’s sake, this guy was hot too. Carver shook his hand. “It’s alright. I haven’t met anyone here who didn’t already know my name. Kind of a nice change. Back home it’s my brother that gets all the attention.”

“Don’t worry, the novelty will soon wear off. Though you’ll never get your privacy back, I’m afraid,” Dorian sighed. 

Carver was about to respond, but there was a touch at his elbow, and he turned. 

“Carver! You made it.” Felix smiled, and whatever words had been on the tip of Carver’s tongue evaporated. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to come,” Felix continued.

“Oh, er, no. I mean. Yeah, um, here I am, heh!” He cleared his throat. “I would’ve been here sooner, but….” He gave a vague wave and shrugged.

“I’m sure you were up at dawn, doing all sorts of manly, rugged things,” Dorian smirked, giving Felix a sly look.

It was exactly the kind of thing Garrett would say. A pang of homesickness hit Carver, passing before he could fully register the emotion. “Um, I suppose you could say that,” he mumbled, taking a sip of punch.

“What happened to your hand?” Felix frowned, tracking the motion.

“Oh, it’s… just a little burn,” Carver said, attempting to hide the injury with the plate he was holding. 

“Nonsense, let me look at it,” Felix said, holding out his own hand and beckoning.

Carver dutifully let Felix examine him. He looked everywhere but at Felix, who was peering at the burn, his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. Felix’s fingers were soft and elegant and warm. Carver was agonizingly aware of the soil residue that lingered under his fingernails, despite his repeated attempts to dislodge it. 

The doctor tutted. “Come on. Into my office, let’s get this bandaged.”

“What? No, it’s fine, I’ll put a bandaid on it when I get home,” Carver objected. 

Felix shot him a look over his reading glasses. Carver’s resolve crumbled, and he nodded.

The examination room seemed very quiet after the bluster of the festival. Felix busied himself with washing his hands. “You didn’t put ice on it, did you?”

Carver shook his head, biting back the admission that he didn’t have any ice, because he only had a dorm fridge and the tiny freezer compartment was crammed with a box of generic frozen waffles. “Just cold water. Why, is ice bad?” 

“Ironically, you can give yourself frostbite that way,” Felix said. “Now, I want you to be perfectly honest with me. Is there any chance at all that you’ll stop using that hand for a few days?”

Carver snorted.

Felix nodded, but he was grinning a little. “That’s what I thought. I’m going to drain that blister, because I don’t want it coming apart inside your gardening gloves and getting infected. You have to promise me you’ll keep it bandaged though, and change the dressing at night and in the morning. I don’t suppose you’re current on your tetanus shots?”

“I am!” Carver was proud he could admit that much, at least. “My mother made me get one,” he added. 

“I like her already,” Felix said, reaching for Carver’s hand. “You might not want to look.”

Carver averted his eyes. There was a pinch, though compared to the ache of the burn it was hardly noticeable. Then he felt Felix dabbing at his skin, first with cloth, and then with ointment. “All done. Let me get this wrapped up.” He reached for a bandage. “How did you burn yourself, anyway?”

Carver winced from embarrassment. “Er, I washed my clothes last night, and my pants weren’t quite dry. I, um, don’t have a dryer. So I tried to iron the moisture out, but I only have my grandpa’s old iron, which is just a hunk of metal, and, well….” 

There was no need to continue, as Felix was laughing quietly. “There’s nothing worse than damp jeans,” he agreed, glancing up at Carver. Maker, what was it about him? Carver hadn’t been this nervous around someone since he was a teenager.

Felix finished taping the bandage. “There you go, all set.” He turned and began putting bandages and packets of ointment into a paper bag.

“Uh, thanks,” Carver said. The dull ache was beginning to subside. 

Felix handed him the bag. “You can thank me by not letting it get infected.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Carver nodded. “I guess we should get back. I feel like people will notice we’re gone. Don’t want them to get the wrong idea.” He laughed nervously. Why the hell did he say that? 

Felix raised his eyebrows. “What, that we’re hiding instead of watching the egg hunt? I’ve tried it. Trust me, Varric will wait.” He held open the door.

“Damn,” Carver swore in mock disappointment, even as he inwardly heaved a sigh of relief that Felix had misunderstood his meaning. 

Out in the square, Dorian waved them back over to the table. “About time. Varric was getting ready to have the wee ones search for you instead of the blasted eggs.” 

The mayor was giving a speech of sorts, so most everyone was watching him. Carver took the opportunity to heap his plate with food. There was way more than the crowd could eat, and frankly Carver was nearly always hungry these days. 

He was halfway done scarfing down his second ham salad sandwich when the children scattered, the egg hunt begun in earnest. The crowd dispersed as people began to ‘help’ the kids, pointing out eggs and shouting encouragement.

“So, what do you think? Can we leave this wholesome merriment yet? High time we began day drinking, wouldn’t you say?” Dorian looked around with a pained expression.

“Wait till they give out the prizes, love,” Cullen said. “You know Josie worked hard on them, and our dear Nightingale will notice if we’re not there.”

Carver was fairly certain he hadn’t met whoever Cullen was talking about. But, at least he knew he needed to stay for a little longer. Wouldn’t be very polite to show up, scarf down a huge meal, and then bolt. Plus, Felix had wandered back up. Suddenly sticking around for a bit seemed like a good plan. “When are the prizes handed out?”

“Just a few minutes,” Cullen said, nodding towards the center of the plaza. Varric was tallying up the eggs in the children’s baskets. 

“Come on, let’s at least pretend we care,” Dorian sighed. 

They gathered at the edge of the crowd. There was a dark haired woman, apparently Josie, beaming ear to ear as she handed prizes to Varric. Carver suspected that Varric was making up the award categories more or less on the spot, because all of the children won something. 

But what was more interesting was the woman standing next to Josie. Carver’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my god, I know her.”

“Who, Josephine?”

“The redhead,” Carver said. “Leliana. God, she hasn’t changed a bit. I haven’t seen her since I was thirteen.” 

“Oh ho, you know our Nightingale, do you?” Dorian cooed, elbowing Carver in the ribs.

Next to him, Felix pointedly failed to react, taking a sip of his punch as if Carver hadn’t spoken at all. Something about it jarred Carver from his reverie, thankfully before he blurted out that he’d had a massive crush on her. Not that his tone of voice had left much room for doubt. He cleared his throat and turned away, refilling his glass at the punch bowl. “Not really. I can’t imagine she’d remember me. I -”

“Well if it isn’t the grumpiest Hawke.” The voice was dulcet, full of laughter, and tinged with an Orlesian accent.

Carver winced, turning. “Hello, Leliana.” He felt his cheeks darken. “I didn’t think you’d remember me.”

She laughed, light and throaty, and suddenly Carver was a knock-kneed teenager again. “Of course I remember you,” she said. “And Bethany. One doesn’t often forget twins.”

“Ooh, twins!” Dorian grinned. “How exotic. Shame you weren’t identical.”

“Dorian.” Cullen objected without much rancor.

“So, how do you know each other?” Felix asked politely. His smile was mild; he showed no signs whatsoever that he was uncomfortable with the situation. 

Which just made it worse, somehow. Because that meant he wasn’t interested in Carver at all, which would be hopeless, or that he thought Carver was straight. Carver wasn’t sure which was worse.

Meanwhile, the conversation was going on without him, as Leliana answered. “Carver’s family went to the same church as I did, in Lothering. I sang in the choir with his mother and sister, and little Carver was an altar boy.” She grinned at him. “That is, until he outgrew the robes. Even at thirteen, he was as tall as some of the men in the congregation.”

“I believe it,” Dorian murmured, looking him up and down.

“Dorian!” Cullen huffed.

Distracted by the situation, Carver realized too late that he’d failed to guide the conversation. He knew what was coming next, and a second later it arrived, like a freight train. 

“How is your sister? She had such a lovely voice.” Leliana smiled in fond remembrance.

“She… died,” Carver said, nodding. “Seven years ago. Car accident.” Sometimes it was easier to say than others. This was not one of those times.

A pall fell over the group. Finally finished with the gifts, Josephine came bounding up, grinning ear to ear, with a spring in her step. “Leli, you promised me you’d wait,” she said. She caught sight of all of the dour faces. “Oh dear. I seem to have arrived at a bad moment.”

_ “Now  _ can we start day drinking?” Dorian whined. “Where’s Sera? If you drips insist on standing around I’ll go see if she can’t help me make some fun.”

Carver got swept into the plans. He didn’t want to join in -- well, he did, to be honest, but he was afraid they were including him out of pity. But Dorian and Josephine insisted, and his meager objections soon gave way. Within a short time they had retreated to the Pavus-Rutherford home, lounging in a cozy sun room with drinks.

A few other people drifted in as the afternoon faded into evening. Isabela showed up and took over the bar, a blonde woman named Sera chatted Carver’s ear off about bees, and an improbably large one-eyed guy named Bull came later, bearing the leftovers from the festival and garnering a hero’s welcome. 

It wasn’t anything like the parties Carver was used to. Obviously it was nothing like the beer-soaked carouses from college; everyone was far too old for that. But neither was it like the stuffy, boring work get-togethers he’d endured, where everyone stood around drinking and talking about school districts or vacations until it was time to leave. 

Whatever this was, Carver liked it. There seemed to be no pressure to join in or do anything. A clot of people gathered at the bar, but a few others lounged on the couch. At one point Dorian fetched a book for Cassandra; she sat down and began reading it, and no one paid her any mind. 

It wasn’t just that, though. There was a level of comfort between everyone that was both utterly foreign and intensely appealing. They’d all known each other for years, and that intimacy was inclusive, bundling Carver up into the mix as if he’d always been there. When he hovered on the edge of a conversation, he was automatically included. Sometimes they stopped to explain an inside joke, and sometimes they didn’t, but even then, it was like Carver was getting to bask in the camaraderie. 

However, Carver quickly became tipsy. Not that he was a lightweight, but he hadn’t done a lot of drinking lately, and Isabela had a heavy pour. As the party got louder, he shifted to the edges, content to watch the others and nurse a glass of water.

Mostly he watched Felix, only to catch himself and look away, until inevitably his eyes drifted back. God, that  _ smile.  _ It was so… warm, but also sad, and so genuine. He was just….

“Having fun?” Bull plopped himself next to Carver on the couch, not waiting for an invitation. 

“What? Oh, yeah. Yeah, it was nice of them to ask me.” Carver nodded. 

“Always good to have friends,” Bull agreed vaguely. 

“Yeah,” Carver nodded again. He should think of some way to keep the conversation going. It’d never been his strong suit, small talk.

“So,” Bull said, jostling Carver from his thoughts. “How you liking it? Bit of a change, right?”

“It is,” Carver said. “Funny, growing up I never thought I’d end up a farmer.” He laughed shook his head.

“Yeah, I hear that,” Bull nodded. “I wanted to be a dragon hunter. Boy was I disappointed.”

Carver snorted. “You sound like my brother. What do you do, then?”

“Run a retreat hostel for veterans on the edge of town. When I got outta the service, took me a while to get my head straight. So I figured, hey, maybe other vets could use a place to get used to normal life, you know?” Bull shrugged. “‘Course, some of ‘em stick around longer than they should.” He reached out as Cullen walked by. They linked fingers briefly, Cullen smiling but not slowing his steps.

Carver didn’t even notice. “That’s great.” He wanted to say something more, but somehow he got distracted. Carver watched Isabela put her arm around Felix’s shoulders, hip checking him before landing a wet-looking smooch on his cheek. Felix laughed, blushing and wiping his face. Carver swallowed hard, ripping his eyes away.  _ Stop staring, asshole.  _

Next to him, Bull snickered under his breath. Carver realized the man was watching him, openly grinning. “It’s not what you think,” Bull said.

“I don’t… think anything,” Carver mumbled.

Bull snorted. “Felix is gay,” he said. 

Carver cleared his throat, ignoring how his heart thumped. “Oh, um, is he?”

“Yep. And Bela lives with Merrill, but she’s ace, so Bela gets her kicks wherever,” Bull supplied helpfully.

Carver barely registered the words. “Oh. That’s….” His gaze wandered back to Felix, who was laughing helplessly at some story Sera was telling. He looked at Carver, just for a second, as his jag of laughter calmed to a smile that seemed to clobber Carver upside the head. And then something else grabbed Felix’s attention, and he stepped into the kitchen.

Carver stood, intending to follow him, find an excuse to talk to Felix more. Then he remembered his dirty fingernails and bad hair, oh and let’s not forget the  _ complete and utter lack of anything interesting to say _ . “I should go,” Carver said. The man might’ve been gay, but he was way out of Carver’s league. No point in sticking around and making more of an ass of himself.

“You sure?” Bull asked. “You okay?”

“Oh, fine. Just tired. And I have a lot to do tomorrow,” Carver sighed. He looked around, trying to decide if he needed to say individual goodbyes. The thought was exhausting.

“You can just ghost,” Bull said, guessing his mind. “I’ll tell ‘em you said goodbye.”

“Thanks,” Carver said, genuinely relieved. 

“No problem.”

It was fully dark outside, and Carver shivered, wishing he’d brought a warmer jacket. He got a few yards away when he heard the door open. “Carver! Hey, wait a minute!”

His stomach quivered when he heard Felix’s voice.  _ Be cool, be cool. _ He turned, trying not to grin like an idiot.

Felix was holding out the paper bag of bandages. “You forgot this,” he said, jogging up. 

“O-oh,” Carver stammered. “Yeah. Sorry.”  _ Of course he wasn’t chasing after you, you fool. _

“Remember, change it tomorrow morning, and if it shows any signs of infection, come see me, okay?”

“Yeah. Of course.” He nodded, holding up the bag. “Got it.”

Felix flashed a tentative smile. “Walk safely.”

“I will,” Carver said, already backing away. He whipped around, walking as fast as he could. 

It was past ten by the time Carver got home, far later than he’d stayed up since moving to the cottage. Too late to start a fire, and he was thoroughly chilled by the walk. Miserably, he huddled under his blanket, wearing his pajamas and his robe and a knit cap. 

Stupid, stupid crush. Over the course of the day it had bloomed to something unmanageable. And of course Carver had utterly failed to make a good impression, he was sure of that. Carver had always been shit at flirting. His experiences with dating had all been tepid relationships with women which always fizzled after a few months, usually leaving Carver more confused than heartbroken. Most of his experience with men had been purely physical, usually half-drunk guys that assumed he was straight and thought it would be a fun challenge to seduce him. He had no idea how to signal that he was bi, except blurting it out, which never worked, so he never made the first move.

Shit. Felix certainly wouldn’t want a clumsy, boring guy like Carver. The man was a doctor, for god’s sake. He had his life together, a successful business and good friends; he was elegant and charming and self-assured. Carver ate peanut butter sandwiches for half his meals and couldn’t even handle the laundry without injuring himself. Hell, the fact that he was even on the farm at all was a sign that he’d basically wasted his life up till that point. 

Sighing, Carver burrowed deeper under the blankets. The crush would pass. He forced himself to think about the good things that had happened that day. He’d had fun, ate and drank well, the others didn’t seem to realize he was an idiot, and it was even possible he might make some friends. The spinach and radishes were almost ready to harvest and could be taken to the market on Saturday, which meant money in his pocket. All good things. He’d be fine tomorrow. It was gonna be fine.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver gets a visit from his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for those of you who don't actually play Stardew Valley, the 'holidays' in this fic are taken straight from the game.

It wasn’t as if Carver didn’t want to see his brother. Of course he did. Despite Carver being folded into the circle of friendship in the village, farm life was pretty lonely. And he wanted to prove to Garrett that he was making it work.  

But there was also a lump of foreboding about the impending visit. Part of it was just an issue of space -- Garrett would have to sleep on the floor. And it wasn’t like Carver could just take a day off, either. Garrett insisted that he wanted to help, but privately Carver figured that he’d just get in the way. His job as a government consultant didn't really translate into any useful skills for the farm. 

More than that, though, was the worry that somehow Garrett would ruin things. Carver was working his ass off, and had some initial success. His first few harvests had been enough to cover his (admittedly paltry) bills for the month. Still, things were still fragile. One bad run of weather could wipe him out for most of a season. More than that, though, was how important the farm was to him, even if he couldn’t articulate why. The prospect of having Garrett making snide remarks and poking fun at his life made Carver feel faintly ill.

But he couldn’t very well  _ say _ that, could he? Plus Carver was fairly certain their mother had put Garrett up to it, her way of checking up on her younger son. 

So when Garrett arrived at the end of May, Carver was on edge. He heard the car tires coming through the forest just before lunchtime. Sighing, Carver set the basket of peas he’d harvested into the wheelbarrow and began the walk back to the cottage. 

A moment later, his brother’s Prius came rolling up. Garrett got out of the car, leaning on the vehicle with a broad smile on his face.

“You made it,” Carver said. 

“I did.” Garrett held his arms open. “Are you too stinky for a hug?”

“Naturally,” Carver nodded, hugging him anyway.

Garrett took off his sunglasses and slid them into his front pocket. He put his hands on his hips. “I know I’m looking right at it, but I still can hardly believe it.” He shook his head. “How the  _ fuck  _ did you manage this? Look at it! It’s a proper farm!” He waved, a grand gesture that encapsulated the whole property.

Carver wasn’t convinced of his brother’s sincerity. “That’s the idea.”

Garrett continued to stare over the fields. “I am so, so proud of you.”

“Shut up,” Carver said, smacking him in the arm. “I worked hard on this.”

“I’m serious,” Garrett protested, rubbing his arm. “Also, ow.”

“Oh,” Carver mumbled. “Sorry.”

“Carver, I’d never make fun of you for chasing your dream,” Garrett said. After a beat, he went on. “I don’t have to, when I can make fun of your hair instead. What is this look, anyway? It’s like a Tiger Beat cover circa 1992.”

“Fuck off,” Carver grumbled. “I haven’t had time to get it cut.”

“If you grow a mullet, I’m disowning you,” Garrett said.

All was forgiven when Garrett pulled a small cooler from the back seat. “Thought I’d give you a taste of home,” he said. “It’s Bixby’s.”

“Oh god, really?” Carver lunged at the container. The aroma of cured meat, onions, oregano, and red wine vinegar was pungent and familiar. “You don’t realize how much you love a particular sandwich till you can’t get one.”

They ate lunch, crowding Carver’s table with submarines wrapped in butcher paper, bags of potato chips, and bottles of too-sweet root beer. “Maker, this is so good,” Carver moaned, mouth half-full. 

Garrett just laughed. “I take it there’s no deli here.”

Carver shook his head, wiping at his face with a napkin. “Not even close.”

“What… is there, exactly? To do, I mean.” 

Carver shrugged. “Well, there’s a pub -- they do lunches and burgers and such. We usually go there on Fridays. And the mayor has special events all the time. There’s one this weekend, actually. Some kind of dance. You’ll get to see for yourself.”

“Wait,  _ we?”  _ Garrett smirked. “Did you find romance already? Some wholesome waif with a thing for lonely farmers?” He waggled his eyebrows.

Carver flushed. “No,” he huffed, trying and failing to avoid thinking of Felix. “Nothing like that. I meant the group. The gang, or whatever.” 

Garrett cocked a skeptical eyebrow. 

“My friends?” Carver said finally.

At that, Garrett looked genuinely surprised, staring at Carver.

“What?” 

“I’ve just… never heard you talk about having friends before.” Garrett said. “I mean I assumed you  _ had _ them, don’t get me wrong.”

Carver grabbed a handful of chips, not wanting to admit that he hadn’t, in fact, had any friends. “It’s… weird,” he said finally. “They just kind of… adopted me. Also Leliana lives here now.”

“Leliana…” Garrett squinted. “Sounds familiar….”

“Montilyet,” Carver explained. “No, hang on, that’s her married name. Anyway. The redheaded girl from the Chantry in Lothering.”

“Oh! God, of course. Didn’t you have a crush on her? Or, no… who was that other one? The blonde?”

Carver shifted uncomfortably on his chair. “You mean Peaches?”

“That’s it. Whatever happened to her, I wonder?” 

Carver didn’t look up. “She gave me a handy behind Barlin’s barn, with the promise that I introduce you to her.”

Garrett’s mouth fell open. “But you never introduced us,” he pointed out.

Carver started to laugh. “Well we moved! And you were already in college by that point, so it’s not like you were around,” he said, trying weakly to defend himself. Over Garrett’s laughter, he went on. “She kept writing me in Kirkwall, hoping we’d move back.”

“I cannot believe you did that,” Garrett was almost weeping with laughter. “It’s terrible!”

“It was her idea! I didn’t ask for it!” Carver said, also laughing. “I was fourteen, and she was a year older, I wasn’t going to turn her down!” 

Garrett’s giggles eventually subsided. “Ahhhh, that is hilarious. I can’t believe you never told me.”

“Well it wasn’t my finest moment,” Carver admitted. He crammed the last bit of sandwich into his mouth, brushing his hands together. “God, I missed these. Good thinking.”

“It was mother’s idea,” Garrett said. “I think she’s worried you’re wasting away.”

Carver rolled his eyes and began crumpling up the empty wrappers. “Of course she is.”

“You are looking remarkably fit,” Garrett conceded. “You should start a youtube channel. Farmer Fitness, something like that.”

Snorting, Carver got to his feet. “I don’t think mucking about with dirt is going to catch on. In any case, you’ll find out for yourself. I hope you don’t expect to sit on your ass the whole time you’re here.”

“Of course not,” Garrett scoffed, hopping up. “Just point me in the right direction.”

Carver was pleased to find out that, although Garrett wasn’t exactly helpful when it came to actual farm labor, he didn’t get in the way, either. He was rubbish at picking peas, stopping too often to talk with his hands, but it was nice to have some company in the field. 

And it was kind of fun, having him there in the evening. Carver made them dinner, and Hawke had thoughtfully packed a bottle of bourbon. They had a drink or two on the porch, chatting and listening to the crickets, before heading to bed. 

It was a little weird, having someone sleep in the same room. Carver was hyper aware of the sound of Garrett breathing and the smell of the nylon air mattress.

“Carv?” Garrett said, after a moment.

“Yeah?”

“You seem… good.”

“Do I?”

Garrett paused. “You do. I’m glad.”

Carver stared up at the ceiling. He knew what Garrett was trying to say. They’d never really discussed, well, much of anything. Growing up, the seven year gap in their ages had meant communication was difficult, and after Bethany died, it became impossible. “Thanks.”

He sensed Garrett nodding in the darkness. A moment later, he heard his brother start to laugh.

“Maker, what is it?” Carver groaned.

“Peaches,” Garrett giggled, snorting with laughter.

“God, will you shut up about that?” Carver rolled over, punching his pillow, grinning despite himself.

By the time Friday rolled around, Garrett was nearly out of his mind with boredom. Seeing his brother hop from foot to foot in his enthusiasm to go out, even to one of Varric’s cheesy community events, made Carver realize how much he himself had acclimated to the solitude. 

Garrett was intrigued by the concept. “A  _ dance?  _ Like, the kind we had at school?”

Carver shrugged. “I don’t know much more about it than you.”

Garrett looked at him carefully, then checked his watch. “We’ve got time. Come on,” he said, grabbing his keys. 

“What? Where?”

“No brother of mine is going out looking like that,” Garrett said. “I’m taking you for a haircut.”

Carver did have to admit, he felt a bit better about himself after getting a trim, even if it did mean that he arrived late. Again. 

Not only that, but he was nervous. Felix would be there, he was fairly certain. Carver’s crush hadn’t abated in the slightest. If anything, it’d gotten worse since the egg hunt. Carver found himself making excuses to go into town, just in case they might run into each other. And on the Friday nights when they were both at the Stardrop, Carver was hyper-aware of where the man was at all times, like there was some kind of magnet in his chest.

It was getting to be too much. Too much anticipation, too much tension, with no outlet. Carver needed to shit or get off the pot. He still didn’t even know if Felix was remotely interested. Which meant he probably wasn’t -- Carver would know, wouldn’t he? Yeah. Yeah, he’d know. Felix might’ve smiled at him a lot, but he was probably just being polite by being patient with Carver when he got all tongue-tied. Yeah. That was probably it.

Tonight would be the test, Carver decided. He’d say something -- he wasn’t quite sure what, yet -- and Felix would turn him down nicely. Then it’d be over, and Carver could move on.

The dance was held in a clearing just outside of town, on the edge of the forest. It was quite pretty, with tubs of pansies at every turn, strings of paper lanterns gleaming gently.

“Fashionably late, I see,” Dorian greeted them near the entrance. “Normally that’s my job,” he tutted.

“Yeah, uh, I got, waylaid.” Carver mumbled.

“I dragged him to the barber for the greater good,” Garrett corrected him, sticking out his hand. “Garrett Hawke.” 

Dorian’s eyes widened appreciatively, and he blatantly checked the man out. “Well I think we can all agree that it was a worthy sacrifice. Dorian Pavus-Rutherford, how do you do?”

They shook hands for at least twice as long as necessary, until Carver snorted. 

Cullen came wandering over, a cup of punch in each hand. “I think Isabela spiked this,” he warned his husband. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Carver said. Carver held his tongue as Cullen also checked Garrett out, and then quirked an eyebrow at Dorian. He’d heard rumors that they sometimes had a few guest stars in their marriage, and apparently it was true. “I’ll just get some punch, then,” he said to no one in particular.

He spied Felix at the other edge of the clearing, talking to Aveline, but Carver headed towards the refreshments anyway. No point in making it obvious.

Bull was at the table, calmly eating hors d'oeuvres like it was his job. “Hey, Carv, how’s it going. Nice haircut.”

“Er, thanks.” He poured a cup of punch and gulped about half of it in one go. It was definitely spiked.

Bull had spied the way Dorian and Cullen were circling Garrett like sharks. “Looks like your brother made some friends.”

Carver grumbled vaguely, not paying attention. He finished his punch and refilled it. Felix was alone. Now was his chance. He walked over.

“Carver,” Felix said, smiling. “You made it.”

“Yeah,” Carver nodded. “I promise I’m not one of those people who’re always late. My brother made me get a haircut.” 

“It suits you,” Felix said, studying Carver’s appearance.

_ Don’t stare don’t stare. _ Carver’s brain went blank as they made eye contact. After way too long, he wrenched his eyes to the side. “Thanks,” he said. 

“Is that him?” Felix said after another pause, looking over at Garrett. He had Dorian and Cullen both laughing, and Dorian reached over and touched his arm as he spoke. He slid his hand up Garrett’s bicep appreciatively. Garrett, being Garrett, winked and flexed his arm.

Carver sighed. “That’s him.”

Felix laughed a little. “Dorian always did have good taste.”

It felt like the ground had swallowed Carver whole. Of course Felix thought his brother was handsome. Dammit, why did his Garrett pick this weekend to visit? Carver hummed, trying not to let his dejection show. 

Felix stiffened. “Oh, I mean…. That didn’t come out right, did it?” He laughed nervously. “There’s, a, um, very strong resemblance.”

“Is there?” Carver blurted. His heart began to thud.

“Oh yes,” Felix nodded emphatically. 

“Oh, well,” Carver stammered. That was good, right? Maybe things weren’t so hopeless?

The music kicked in. Couples began to drift to the center. Leliana glided up. “Carver. Come dance with me?”

“Um.” Carver shot a look at Felix, who was gazing out at the dancers with a bemused expression.

“Don’t be shy, it’s just one dance.” Leliana held her hand out. 

Carver took it, blushing. As Leliana led him to the center, Carver saw that Josephine was dancing with Blackwall.

Finally, Leliana turned and they began to dance, swaying in a slow circle, a polite distance between them. “I see your brother is here,” Leliana said. “And he seems to be enjoying himself.”

“Yeah.” Carver followed Leliana’s line of sight: Dorian was dancing with Garrett, very slow and very close, murmuring into his ear. 

“Are  _ you _ having fun?” Leliana asked. 

“Yeah, I guess,” Carver said. Over Leliana’s shoulder, he spied Felix in conversation with Merrill. The diminutive woman was clearly talking his ear off. He had that gentle smile on his face, and suddenly Carver felt off-balance again.  _ See, he smiles at everyone, not just you. _

“You should relax,” Leliana advised. “You’ll dance better.”

“What?” Carver said, distracted. 

Leliana just laughed, and the song ended. Carver floundered, not knowing if it’d be weird to go back to Felix. Probably.

It didn’t matter much, because Garrett caught up with him, pulling him to the side by his elbow. “So, just hypothetically….”

“Andraste’s tits, Garrett,” Carver sighed. “You’re not going to be able to walk tomorrow.”

“I beg your pardon.” Garrett drew himself to his full height, attempting to look haughty. He abandoned it a moment later as he got distracted by something over Carver’s shoulder. “God, is  _ everyone _ in this town hot? Who is that?”

Carver turned to see where he was looking. “Oh, that’s… Andrew? No, Anders. He lives down by the beach. I haven’t talked to him much.”

“Good lord, it’s like living in a candy store.” Garrett shook his head in disbelief. “And your doctor’s quite handsome, too.” He nodded in approval.

Carver froze. “What do you mean,  _ my doctor?” _

Garrett laughed. “Ha  _ ha!  _ I knew it. What, do you think you were fooling anyone with the whole cow-eyed bit?” 

Carver scowled. “I’m going for punch.”

Garrett snorted and chased after him. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Carver said. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Garrett tilted his head quizzically. “Ooo-kay.” 

Of course, that was when Felix came over. “Hello, you must be Garrett,” he said.

“I am. And you must be Felix,” Garrett said.

Carver frowned. He was pretty sure he hadn’t told his brother Felix’s name. 

“Well isn’t this cozy.” Dorian sidled up, helping himself to a canape. “I do so love Zevran’s sausage balls, don’t you? So spicy.” He popped the morsel into his mouth, then shivered with pleasure, leaning backwards against Cullen.

Felix looked like he was fighting back a grin, biting his lip and squeezing his eyes shut. “They are, rather.”

“I like spicy things,” Garrett said, his gaze fixated on Dorian’s fingers, which were busy feeding a meatball to his husband.

“Spicy thi-- Garrett, the first time you ate a mild Buffalo wing you were practically weeping after,” Carver pointed out.

“I like the idea of spicy things,” Garrett said, too entranced by Dorian’s hands to get upset.

Cassandra strode up. “Gentlemen, might I remind you there are children present?” She folded her arms, frowning. “I do not relish the thought of explaining to Cole that one should not hand-feed balls of meat to one’s friends in polite company.”

At that, Felix spun on his heel, his fist jammed into his mouth in an attempt to suppress his laughter, his shoulders shaking. 

“I fail to see what is so amusing,” Cassandra glowered.

“No, no, you’re perfectly right,” Felix gasped. “Absolutely.” His jaw worked as he continued to fight back the giggles. 

Cullen and Garrett managed to look abashed, though Dorian merely pouted. Cassandra stalked off, leaving a disgusted grunt in her wake.

“Balls of meat!” Felix blurted out, doubling over with laughter.

The rest of them looked at each other, confused. It wasn’t  _ that _ funny, but Felix’s laughter was contagious, at least to Carver. 

The music started up again while they were both laughing. After a moment Carver realized that the others were dancing: this time around it was Garrett and Cullen, while Dorian was being flung about by Bull.

There was a lull. Carver licked his lips, readying himself. This was the perfect moment.  _ Just ask him to dance. _

It might’ve been the right moment, but he had the wrong words. He’d meant to say ‘do you want to dance’, but halfway through he changed it to ‘would you like to dance’, so what he ended up actually saying was: “Do you like to dance?”

“Not really,” Felix said, scrunching his nose. “But Varric puts so much work into these events, it’d be a shame to miss it just because I have two left feet.”

Carver’s stomach went into freefall. “Oh, yeah,” he nodded absently. Fuck. Well he couldn’t very well ask him now, could he?

“What about you?” Felix asked.

“Um. It’s… fine, I guess,” Carver shrugged. 

“I mean, don’t let me stop you,” Felix said quickly. “No need to babysit the doctor,” he chuckled, though there was no humor in it. “You looked good out there with Leliana.”

“Did I?” Carver squinted in confusion. He had no idea what was going on. 

“Well, that is… you just looked comfortable, is all.” Felix was looking at a spot on the ground about a yard in front of his feet. “Bit like a Disney prince, actually.” His laugh was short and nervous and rueful. “With his princess.”

“I could teach you,” Carver blurted out. “To dance. I mean, I’m not an expert or anything.”

Felix looked up, his expression caught between disbelief and sadness. “I… I’m afraid I can’t, actually. I’m not just clumsy -- I have balance problems. Chronic vestibular neuritis. I can’t handle the spinning.”

“Oh.” Carver’s hopes crumpled. God, why had he offered to teach him to dance? In retrospect, Carver realized that Felix had probably been urging him to go bother someone else with that bit about Leliana.  _ Dammit, why can’t I take a hint for once in my damn life? _ Carver looked around for some excuse to move away. He couldn’t very well say he needed more punch; they were right next to the table. “Um. Where’s the, er, facilities?” 

Felix gave him a blank look for a second, before comprehension set in. “Oh. Cassandra’s place is closest; she usually leaves the door open.”

“Gotcha,” Carver said, giving a tight, pained smile. “I’ll be back.” He walked off quickly, before he could make a further fool of himself. 

Cassandra’s house was at the edge of the forest; it took Carver a minute or two to get there. Sure enough, the front door was open. Carver let himself in. The washroom was right off the foyer, so he went ahead and relieved himself, more out of commitment to the excuse than any need. 

Back outside, the sun had gone down completely. Carver could see the glow of lantern lights, and the music carried faintly. He sighed. The idea of going back and watching Garrett flirt shamelessly with his friends held little appeal, especially in the wake of the awkwardness with Felix. He shoved his hands in his pockets and began the walk home. 

He’d been home for about twenty minutes, gone from the party for about forty, when he got a text from his brother.  _ U left? _

_ Yeah. Felt a bit ill. _

Carver watched the dialogue bubble go bright and dim several times. After another minute, he got the reply.  _ So hypothetically is it a problem if I stay somewhere else?  _ And another, on its heels:  _ Felix wants to know if u need help _

“Oh, god,” Carver groaned to himself. That just made it worse, yet another reminder that Felix was just being professional.  _ Not a problem and I’m fine. Too much punch. _

The phone went dark and stayed that way. Misery continued its slow creep, saturating Carver thoroughly. Absently, he poured himself some of the bourbon that Garrett had brought, then headed back to the porch. The treefrogs were out in full force, filling the night with their call. Carver hoped a few of them were getting lucky, since he certainly wasn’t. 

It wasn’t about sex, though. Carver could get that from Isabela, or from Bull; hell, they’d both offered several times. But that would make it worse. Because he wanted  _ more _ than sex.  _ You’ve got to get over it. He’s not interested. He was just being polite. Move on.  _ Carver sighed again, squinting up at the stars. Slowly, his thoughts began to get further and further apart, till he wasn’t really thinking at all. His mind and his glass now empty, he got to his feet and headed to bed. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver's day is full of coincidences. Also, Felix. Also also, puppies.

Carver had been working for several hours when Garrett finally strolled up the next morning, emerging from the path that led to the village with a box of donuts in his hand and a swagger to his gait. He looked relaxed and content, but the bags under his eyes indicated he hadn’t gotten much sleep. 

“Brought some breakfast,” he said, holding the box out.

“I ate breakfast four hours ago.” Carver flicked the lid open; several donuts were missing. 

“A snack, then,” Garrett shrugged, unconcerned. 

Carver pulled off his gloves and helped himself to a cruller. “Well?”

“Well what?”

With an annoyed grunt, Carver swallowed his mouthful. “Aren’t you going to lord your fantastic night over my head?”

“Of course not,” Garrett said, holding a hand over his heart. “A gentleman never kisses and tells.” Over Carver’s snort, he went on. “Anyway, you could have had an… well let’s be honest, not  _ equally  _ fantastic night, but a good one nonetheless. Why’d you run off like that? Your doctor was very upset.”

Carver’s stomach flipped over. “He’s not  _ my  _ doctor, I told you. And he was just being polite. He’s very… polite.” Carver finished the lame thought, grabbing another donut out of frustration. 

Garrett tilted his head. “Are you sure? Seemed like a bit more than professional courtesy to me.”

“Positive,” Carver said. “Just… look, I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

Garrett shrugged again. “Whatever you say.” After a moment, he squinted out over the fields. “Have you noticed how everyone talks about Amell, here?”

“Like some kind of folk hero, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

Carver crammed the last bit of donut in his mouth, then brushed his hands off. “Guess they really liked him. From what I can tell, anyway. Apparently he talked about us.”

“Did he?” Garrett seemed just as baffled as Carver had been.

“I guess.” Carver retrieved the bottle of water he kept on the porch and took a long drink. He almost mentioned the box of letters and photos, but some unknown urge held him back.

“Should we tell mother?” Garrett asked.

Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, Carver shook his head. “Tell her what? That he was beloved in the community, even though he abandoned his daughter?”

“You’ve got a point there. Still.” Garrett chewed his lip.

“You can tell her if you like,” Carver said, capping the bottle. “I’m staying out of it.”

Rubbing at his beard, Garrett thought for a moment. “I guess there’s no point in stirring up old ghosts.”

Something about that didn’t feel quite right, but Carver couldn’t put his finger on it. So he ignored it. “Come on, you can help prep these radishes for the market.”

The afternoon went fast. The radishes were washed and sorted and bundled. It was one of Carver’s favorite parts about the farm so far; there was something satisfying about seeing the results of his labor, touching it and tasting it. 

Garrett, as usual, wasn’t very helpful, but he was company. Carver realized he was going to miss his brother when he left in the morning. He almost laughed when he realized.

As if reading his thoughts, Garrett said, “Cullen thinks you should get a dog.”

Carver laughed. “Does he?”

“Oh yes. A nice faithful mabari mix. Say, mabari and golden retriever?”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with the litter his own dog just had, would it?” Carver began gently piling the bunches of radishes in a wooden crate.

“A coincidence, I’m sure.” Garrett grinned. “You should get one though, seriously. I mean, isn’t it lonely out here?”

Carver shrugged, hefting the crate. “I guess. Sounds like you guys did an awful lot of talking last night.”

Garrett managed to look embarrassed. “Well, yes. Actually. We did. Stayed up most of the night, truth be told. I, ah, really like them.”

Carver just shook his head, ducking as he clambered down into the basement. “I gathered,” he said dryly.

“No, I mean… they asked if I might visit again?” Garrett ran his hands along the shelf in the root cellar.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Carver grumbled. Anger and envy flared up; it was hard to know which was which.

“What?” Garrett crossed his arms defensively. “There’s nothing wrong with being poly.”

“I know that,” Carver said through gritted teeth. 

“Well what’s the problem?”

Carver ran his hands through his hair. He’d had such a nice visit till now; this was the longest he’d ever gone without fighting his brother. “The problem is you just waltz into town and sleep with my friends and, what, start dating them?”

Garrett held his hands up. “And?”

“And….” Carver realized there was no mature was to finish the sentence.  _ And I’m lonely and jealous and heartsick and why do you get all the good things  _ was the kind of thing best left unsaid. Plus it wasn’t like he himself wanted either Dorian or Cullen, even if they were both hot. Still. There was a part of Carver that wanted this life to be entirely his, and now that was impossible. The selfsame frustration stung him whenever people in town talked about Amell like he was still around, but this was much more acute. This was his bloody big brother, showing him up once again by charming the pants off of not one but two of his friends, while Carver couldn’t even get a dance with Felix.

Carver forced himself to take a deep breath. He was being childish and he knew it. “You know what, it’s fine. It’s fine.” He still felt rotten but there was no use in whining.

Garrett’s eyebrows shot up. “This wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with Felix, would it?”

“Oh will you shut up about that?”

“Look all I’m saying is that he was  _ very _ upset that you left last night. He went to that woman’s house looking for you when you didn’t come back,” Garrett said.

The residual anger was not a good combination with the clench in Carver’s chest. “He was probably worried I’d hurt myself,” he mumbled. “Tripped and fell or something.”

Garrett shook his head. “A doctor worried about a patient doesn’t normally need his best friend to pull him aside and comfort him for five minutes. I don’t remember the last time I saw someone look so dejected. Wait, yes I do. It was you, this morning, when you said you didn’t want to talk about it.”

Carver felt cold and hot at the same time. A part of him desperately wanted to believe Garrett. But he didn’t. He couldn’t, at least not fully. 

“Carv, I’m having trouble understanding what the big deal is,” Garrett said. “Just ask him out.”

Carver huffed. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It  _ is  _ easy. ‘Felix, how about we get coffee sometime.’ See, now you try.” 

“It’s easy for  _ you,”  _ Carver grumbled. “I tried that last night, and it didn’t work.”

“You asked him for coffee?” Garrett looked surprised.

“I asked him to dance. And perhaps you were too busy flirting with my friends to notice, but he turned me down.” Carver stomped back up the stairs to the yard. 

“Well maybe he just doesn’t like to dance,” Garrett laughed, chasing after him. “That’s no reflection on you.” 

The longer they talked about it, the more Carver began to feel miserable. The tiny spark of hope from a few minutes ago had all but snuffed out. There was no point in arguing with Garrett about it; he’d just continue to throw Carver’s reasoning back in his face. And Carver didn’t want to admit the real issue. He wasn’t in Felix’s league, not by a long shot. Possibly, maybe, Felix had some small interest in him, but Felix barely knew him. It was all but inevitable that attraction would fizzle once Felix found out how big of a fuck-up Carver was. And the prospect of actually  _ pursuing _ Felix, of making his own desperate crush known, just meant Carver would have that much more disappointment in store once it failed to work out. 

“Look. I’m not you, okay?” Carver snapped. “I can’t charm people the way you can.”

Garrett dropped it, shrugging in that insufferable way that screamed  _ I know I’m right.  _

Suddenly Carver remembered how much his brother drove him insane. A few moment of tense silence passed as Carver rinsed the tubs he used to wash the vegetables. “So how many puppies does Cullen have, anyway?” 

Garrett grinned. “I knew you’d want one. Maybe we should go over, pick one out?”

Carver leveled him with a suspicious look. “You just want to back to their house,” he accused.

“Another coincidence,” he winked. 

They ended up back at the Pavus-Rutherford home after lunch. Carver pretended not to notice the total lack of surprise on Dorian and Cullen’s part when they showed up. The puppies were, as Carver expected, cute as hell. 

“I’ll never understand this Ferelden obsession with dogs,” Dorian said, not looking up from his phone. The fact that there was a sleeping pup splayed across his legs undermined his point somewhat.

Carver hunkered down on the floor. The mother dog came over to sniff at him. Apparently satisfied, she began to pick up puppies and deposit them, squirming, into his lap. 

“She didn’t do that for me!” Garrett pouted.

Cullen laughed and squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. “Don’t worry, Missy didn’t like Dorian at first, either. She’s, ah… sensitive to my smell.” He cleared his throat. “I think it makes her nervous when she smells me on --”

“Aaaaand we’re changing the subject,” Carver said. He really didn’t want to think about Cullen’s smell, at least not in conjunction with his brother. Seeing the casual intimacy that they’d already established was difficult enough. He knew he had no right to be jealous, but he was anyway.

The doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” Dorian said. “Leave you boys to bond over your dogs.”

One of the pups was more interested in Carver than the others, returning to nibble his knuckles in between romping with her littermates. 

“Well well looked who stopped by,” Dorian said blandly. 

Felix stepped into the room. “Dori, you texted me.”

“Imagine that, what a coincidence,” Dorian said, as if Felix hadn’t spoken.

Carver clenched his jaw. He did not appreciate matchmaking, especially when it was this transparent. And more than likely, hopeless to boot.

“Do you like dogs, Felix?” Garrett asked.

“I like Missy,” he hedged. “Not many dogs in where I come from,” he explained apologetically. He eyed the litter with some trepidation. “That one seems to like you, though.” He smiled tentatively at Carver.

Carver forgot all about being angry. “I think she’s a keeper. Though they say that the Mabari picks the owner, not the other way around.”

Felix beamed and squatted down. “This one must have good taste, then.”

Carver’s mind went blank.  _ Does he mean that? He can’t possibly. But what if he does? Say something, idiot. _ “Would you like to hold her?” He thrust the puppy at Felix.

It was a bit awkward -- Felix didn’t quite know how to hold the wriggling animal, but Carver gave him instructions, trying to not react when their fingers met. 

“Oh! She’s very --” He laughed as the dog slipped out of his hands and ran back to Carver.

“Sorry,” Carver mumbled. 

“No, it’s fine,” Felix said, settling to sit cross-legged. The other pups investigated this new situation with interest, sniffing at his knees. Within a few seconds this led to a full-on play session, biting at each other’s heads, which made Felix cringe. “Should we separate them?”

“They’re fine,” Carver reassured him. “It’s just something dogs do. They’re playing, not fighting.”

“Ah, yes, the head-biting game, how silly of me,” Felix said. 

It occurred to Carver that they’d been left alone. He looked around and sighed. No doubt the others had snuck off to mess around.

“How are you, ah, feeling about all this?” Felix cocked his head towards the door. 

He tried to choose his words carefully. “It’s… fine.” He didn’t look up, focusing on the puppy attempting to lick his face. “A little fast, but Garrett always was the charming one.” Did that sound bitter? He hoped not. 

“He must be  _ very  _ charming then,” Felix murmured. Carver was still trying to puzzle out what that meant, exactly, when two sounds occurred almost simultaneously. From upstairs, there was a loud thud, then some laughter. And next to Carver, there was a trickle of dripping liquid. One of the puppies was pissing on the floor.

“Oh dear,” Felix said, rising to his feet. “I’ll just grab some paper towels. Be right back.”

Carver stood up too, before the puddle soaked his pants. The thump from upstairs turned into several, and by the time Felix returned, there were audible moans in the mix.

They both knelt to deal with the mess, sopping it up with fistfuls of wadded paper towels. “Well,” Felix said, laughing.

“Yeah,” Carver said. “Guess Garrett might be here for a bit. Or, the night. Again.” He sighed. “I should be happy. He snores.”

Felix laughed. “Should we… I don’t know, take them for a walk?” He gestured at the pack of puppies.

“Yeah, I guess we should.” Privately, Carver thought it would serve them right if the dogs pissed all over everything, for leaving him and Felix sitting there. Then again, he really wasn’t in a position to complain about getting some alone time with Felix. His doubts from last night were… not gone, just buried under the simmering excitement that came with extended proximity to Felix.

There were leashes hanging on the coat hooks by the door, and after a few minutes of chaos, the four pups and Missy were ready to go. It wasn’t exactly a “walk” so much as them standing in the front yard while the dogs went in every direction. 

Felix got tangled immediately, laughing helplessly. Carver was struck by how often Felix smiled and laughed. It was easy to get wrapped up in it. 

In the end, Missy ended up herding her pups back into the house. The sounds coming from upstairs were becoming embarrassingly obscene. “I think I should go,” Carver said. 

“Me too,” Felix said, cringing at a particularly enthusiastic moan. 

Back outside, they stood awkwardly for a moment. Carver wracked his brain for some excuse to keep hanging out. It was too early for dinner, and anyway he didn’t have the money to go out. 

“Well, it was good to see you,” Felix said. “Twice in two days, that’s a record.”

“Heh, yeah,” Carver nodded. The window for prolonging the evening was rapidly closing. His brain was churning, but he came up blank. 

Felix shifted his weight from foot to foot. He looked like he was uncomfortable and trying to hide it. “Well, I guess I should… get going.” 

“Yeah, me too,” Carver nodded. “Need to, um….”

“Pick out dog names?” Felix suggested.

Carver chuckled. “I’m thinking G. G.”

“Gigi?” Felix grinned, his nose crinkling in confusion. “You don’t seem like a Lerner and Lowe fan to me.”

Carver had no idea what Felix was talking about. “Um, I mean, short for Good Girl. G. G. Maybe it could use some work, though.”

“Oh!” Felix relaxed. “That’s cute.”

Another awkward pause settled around them. Carver glanced up at the second floor window and caught the silhouette of his brother through the curtain. “Oh god, I have to get out of here,” he groaned, spinning around and shielding his eyes. 

Felix looked up, then did a similar maneuver. “Yes. Me too. I’ll… see you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, definitely,” Carver nodded. 

Felix gave him a little wave, dipping his head with a shy smile, and walked away. 

Unfortunately, it was in the same direction that Carver needed to go. His brain jammed on the prospect that Felix would think it was weird to follow him, and his feet began to go in the opposite direction of their own accord. Out of habit, he pulled out his phone. 

There were no messages, of course, but Carver opened google, typing in  _ Gigi Learner Low.  _ Well, at least he’d spelled one thing right. He was surprised to find out it was a musical. Was Felix into that stuff? Carver felt a tug of hopelessness. His own taste in movies drifted towards anything with ninjas, or robots, or dragons. 

He put his phone away. Felix was, thankfully, out of sight. Carver almost turned around when a thought hit him, and he headed to the library. 

It was dinnertime when Carver got home. He’d gotten a “don’t wait up” text from Garrett on the way. Rather than annoy him, he was actually somewhat relieved. For one thing, Carver could deflate the air mattress, since his brother was leaving in the morning. And for another, he could pop in the DVD of  _ Gigi _ he’d borrowed from the library without any interference.

The movie was about as far from what he was expecting as it was possible to get. Carver barely understood what was going on; he had to look up the meaning of  _ courtesan  _ and even then, he was still confused. Felix liked this kind of thing? Okay, the song about the old guy forgetting all the details of his date with the old lady was kind of funny, but the rest was either boring, incomprehensible, or turned Carver’s stomach. 

He watched till the credits rolled, then shut the TV off. It had gotten dark. Carver lit a lamp and sat there, not quite sure what he was feeling. The elation of seeing Felix had worn off. He was left with a dull hopelessness, not as sharp as earlier in the day, but inescapable. Clearly, there must’ve been something redeeming about the movie, but whatever it was went over his head. Maybe Felix was into the costumes, the music? It was very elegant. That just made Carver feel worse, though -- he was the opposite of elegant. He felt dumb witted and oafish. 

God, why was he even bothering? With a wave of embarrassment, he ejected the disc and angrily shoved in the box, then stowed it in his backpack. Stupid to think -- what, that Carver could fool Felix into thinking he was interesting or smart? Best to just forget the whole thing. Yeah. 

Carver continued to bolster this decision as he got ready for bed. It made sense, the cold pessimism at least offering closure, if not comfort. Obviously, he wasn’t going to get over this by continuing to see Felix. That meant no more special trips into town, hoping to run into him. It was getting on summer anyway; Carver would be plenty busy. Yeah. Avoid the guy for a few weeks, and it would clear right up. End of story. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But it's _not_ the end of the story! Dun dun DUNNNNNNNN.
> 
>  
> 
> Also: my prejudice against Gigi is showing. I don't care. My least favorite musical, hands down, and that's even if you count Diamond Horseshoe.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver finds it's hard to hide in a small town. Dorian gets sick of waiting.

The next morning, Garrett once again showed up late, bearing not only more donuts but also a very small canine that bounded across the fields to lick Carver’s face. 

“You could’ve texted you were bringing her,” Carver said. The complaint didn’t have much weight, given he was grinning ear-to-ear. 

Garrett shrugged. “Thought you’d like the surprise,” he said. 

“You mean Cullen didn’t want to give me a chance to back out.”

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.” Garrett began unloading his car, putting half a dozen mega-mart bags on the porch. “Bed, leash, collar, water bowl, brushes, toys, pee-pee pads -- though Cullen thinks she’ll be housetrained in a few weeks -- nail clipper, flea medication, and food.” He hefted a 50-pound bag of kibble from the trunk.

There was no way Carver would’ve been able to afford it all, much less pay Garrett back. He’d been planning to get a few things at a time. “You didn’t have to --”

“Psh,” Garrett cut off his objection. “I should be thanking  _ you. _ Gave me an excuse to play ‘hero big brother’ in front of Cullen.” He winked.

Carver rolled his eyes. “Happy to help,” he grumbled.

Garrett left that afternoon, casually mentioning that he’d be back in a couple months, and even more casually slipping in the detail that he’d be staying with the Pavus-Rutherfords. Carver just nodded. What else could he do?

Carver decided to name the puppy Lady. Possibly not the most imaginative name, but she answered to it. Having her around was an immense comfort, if for no other reason than she perked her head to the side and listened when he talked to himself. 

The next few weeks flew by, and Carver did not see the doctor. Even in a small village, it was easy to avoid Felix. For one thing, Carver was much busier. Varric and Alistair had asked him to set up a Saturday morning farmer’s market, so Carver’s Friday nights were now dedicated to bagging salad greens for sale the following morning. 

Not that Carver did nothing but work. Alistair had invited him to a regular Tuesday night game of Diamondback. There were several overlapping circles of friendship in the village, and this one did not include Felix, which suited Carver under the circumstances. Instead they played at Aveline’s house, though Aveline herself didn’t join in the game. But her husband Donnic did, along with Alistair and Cullen, Anders, sometimes Bull, and a dour, sarcastic guy named Fenris. It was nice, having a weekly ‘thing’ where Carver could just relax and not worry about looking like an idiot in front of Felix.

It was Carver’s third time at the game, when Alistair asked Cullen, “So, did you find someone to dog-sit for the weekend?”

“Ooh, where are you going?” Anders asked. “Someplace fun? Romantic getaway?”

“Er.” Cullen squirmed in his seat, his cheeks starting to flush. “Going to visit a friend.” He glanced guiltily at Carver over his cards. “And Felix is watching the dogs.” Another glance at Carver, this one not so guilty.

Anders was not one for subtlety. “A  _ friend,  _ ooh, is it that handsome man I saw you with him at the dance a few weeks ago.” He made an obnoxious purring sound in his throat.

Fenris grunted in disapproval, scowling at Anders, who merely raised an eyebrow in challenge. Carver wasn’t quite sure what the deal was with him and Anders, but he wasn’t about to ask. It always seemed like they were on the verge of slapping each other or kissing. Or maybe both, who knows?

“Ah, yes, in fact,” Cullen admitted, examining his cards like the secret to the universe was written on them. “We’re going to stay with him for the weekend.”

Carver felt the old familiar sting of resentment. He didn’t say anything, just toyed with the very small stack of plastic chips on the table in front of him. He was losing, as usual. 

“Well, that’s… nice,” Alistair said. “Hang on,  _ Felix  _ is watching Missy? He doesn’t even like dogs.”

Cullen chucked a couple chips into the pot. “Said he wanted to learn.” He gave Carver another look. “Your bet.”

“Fold,” Carver grumbled. He watched the hand play out till it was just Cullen and Donnic. Donnic took the pot, scooping the huge pile of chips toward himself with a shit-eating grin on his face.

It was as good of a time as any to leave. “Think that’s it for me,” Carver said, getting to his feet. “I’ve got a long day ahead of me tomorrow.”

“Me too,” Cullen said, standing up a little too fast for Carver’s liking. 

Sure enough, Cullen asked him to wait once they were outside. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t know if Garrett told you we were going to visit or not.”

Carver shrugged it off. “Don’t worry about it. Just make sure he takes you to Bixby’s. It’s a filthy little deli -- Dorian will hate it, but the sandwiches are amazing.”

“Bixby’s,” Cullen repeated, relieved. For a second it looked like he was going to ask something else, but then he just nodded. “Got it.”

The moon was out, so Carver walked home the back way, rather than go through the village. He told himself it was because it was shorter. In fact, it was the same distance, maybe even a smidge longer, but the back way had the advantage of not going anywhere near Felix’s house. 

Dammit. He’d been doing a great job not thinking about Felix, or dating, or anything remotely romantic. God, he was so jealous of Garrett. Just having a relationship fall into his lap like that, with not one but two impossibly attractive people… well it was par for the course, wasn’t it? Meanwhile the only reason Carver wasn’t out of his mind with loneliness was because he had a dog. 

He let himself into the cottage. Lady was there to greet him, tail wagging so hard her whole hind end was off balance. “Hey, sweet stuff,” Carver cooed, kneeling down to pet her. 

He opened the door wide, and she loped out. Nice that he had so much room to let her run at least. She didn’t go far, just took a piddle on the grass, then snuffled around the base of the porch for a moment. 

Carver forced himself to think about what he had to do tomorrow. It was supposed to rain, so he’d planned on going to town to make pickles in Oghren’s kitchen. He walked himself through the things he would need, even though he’d already written it down. Still, it was an effective diversionary tactic. By the time Lady was done with her business, he was no longer wallowing in self-pity, at least. 

It still amazed him to think that Oghren, who barely knew him, had given him a key to the saloon. And not only that, but let Carver have the run of the place in the mornings. It was far, far easier to make pickles in a professional kitchen than in a home kitchen, much less the cottage. Carver still wasn’t sure how Amell had managed it. 

Carver didn’t enjoy the canning process quite as much as he enjoyed farming, but it was a close second. It was methodical, which he enjoyed, the discrete steps of disinfecting the jars, prepping and packing the veggies, processing them in boiling water. One step, then the next, and when it was done, he had 48 half-pint jars all lined up and ready to go. 

He cleaned the kitchen meticulously as the jars cooled. It was just after eleven when he packed up to leave, which was perfect. Oghren usually got there around noon, and while Carver liked the guy well enough, he always insisted on making Carver lunch and not letting him pay. And there were only so many free lunches Carver could accept before he started to feel guilty about it. 

Thankfully, there was a break in the rain while Carver loaded the crates of finished pickles in the back of the truck. He heard someone call out his name, and turned to find Felix beaming and waving at him from across the square. The doctor jogged up to him, still wearing his lab coat, stethoscope hung around his neck.

He was so, so much more beautiful than Carver remembered. God, that  _ smile.  _ Carver felt light, almost dizzy, like he might fly up into the air. What the hell had he been thinking, avoiding the man? Carver couldn’t remember.

“Hello,” Felix said, a little breathy from the exertion. 

“Hi.” There were other words, Carver was pretty sure; he just couldn’t bring any of them to mind at the moment.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Felix said. “Missed you on Friday.”

_ Did he just say he missed me?  _ “Oh, uh,” Carver stammered. “Been busy. Can’t harvest the greens for Saturday market till Friday, so, I, uh… that, basically.”

“Well I’ll just have to petition to make it a Sunday market, then,” Felix said. He spied the jars nestled into their boxes. “Oh, is that jam?”

“Pickles, actually,” Carver apologized.

Felix’s eyes lit up. “Oooh, my favorite! Are you selling them at Alistair’s?”

Carver nodded. “That’s the plan, anyway. If they’re any good.” Carver grabbed the nearest jar. “Here. For you.” He pressed it into Felix’s hands.

“Mmm, radishes. How much do I owe you?” He reached for his wallet.

“Oh god, no. Nothing, are you kidding? It’s just, you know. To have. You can tell me if they’re good.” Carver tripped over the words. 

“I’m sure they’re delicious,” Felix said, with far more confidence than Carver felt. He looked over Carver’s shoulder. “Oh, hello Merrill.”

Carver deflated as the librarian walked up. 

“Hello Doctor. And Carver! Isn’t this nice.” Merrill stopped and smiled at them.

_ Would be a lot nicer if you hadn’t shown up.  _ Carver did his best to smile back, trying not to let his disappointment in the interruption show.

Merrill didn’t seem to notice. “Oh that reminds me. Are you done with the movie? Only Wynne wanted to borrow it the other day, which is funny, because I don’t know if anyone’s ever borrowed it before, and now twice in a month.”

Carver’s stomach dropped. He did not want Felix finding out about that _.  _ “Oh… yes.”

“What is this high-demand cinematic masterpiece?” Felix asked. “I might have to watch it myself.”

_ “Gigi,” _ Merrill helpfully supplied, as Carver grit his teeth. “I’ve never seen it. But maybe I should?”

Felix was blinking in surprise. Carver felt like an idiot. “Uh, I’ll drop it off tomorrow,” he said. 

“That’ll be wonderful. I’ll see you then,” Merrill smiled. “It was nice seeing you!”

Any hope that Felix would spontaneously develop short-term amnesia was dashed after Merrill got out of hearing distance. He turned to Carver, eyes shining with mirth and confusion. “Did you really watch  _ Gigi?” _

“Er. Yeah.” Carver couldn’t quite meet Felix’s gaze. Suddenly he remembered why he was avoiding the guy; as fantastic as he’d felt a moment ago, now he felt utterly foolish. Wasn’t there a hole he could climb into around here?

“Did you  _ like _ it?” Felix was still smiling, but his nose was crinkled in distaste.

Carver cleared his throat, stalling. “Uh, it… was very elegant.”

Felix gave a derisive snort. “If you can look past the misogyny, yeah. Sorry. I don’t mean to be rude, but --”

“Oh thank god,” Carver groaned in relief. “I hated it.”

Felix laughed out loud. “Well that’s reassuring.”

The front door of the Infirmary opened, and the nurse stepped onto the sidewalk, waving at them. “I think you’re being hailed,” Carver said, nodding at the woman.

Felix turned and sighed. “Back to work, I guess.” He looked back at Carver. “It was great seeing you.”

“Yeah, you too,” Carver nodded. 

“And thanks for the pickles,” Felix added, holding up the jar. 

“No problem,” Carver said, watching him walk away. He was still watching when Felix got to the door, turning to wave one last time.

That floaty feeling came back, staying with Carver as he drove home, and all through the afternoon. Felix was just so  _ beautiful.  _ And he hadn’t liked the movie, after all. Carver muddled his way through the afternoon’s chores, hardly paying attention to what he was doing. Felix had noticed he wasn’t at the Stardrop on Fridays. God, how was that even  _ possible?  _

He finished up around four in the afternoon. Oddly enough, the notification on his phone was blinking. He had a text from a number he didn’t recognize.  _ This is Dorian. I think we have some things to discuss. Are you free tonight around 7? I can come to you.  _

Carver groaned so loudly that Lady trotted over. “It’s okay, sweetie,” Carver said. “My brother’s boyfriend wants to ‘talk’.” 

The dog sat, as if that was the answer. Carver laughed and gave her a scritch under the chin. With a sigh, he replied.  _ Tonight’s fine. See you then.  _

He really, really did not want to have a heart-to-heart about Garrett. The less he knew about his brother’s sex life, the better. Why Dorian felt the need to actually come see him was a mystery. Maybe he just wanted to know Garrett’s favorite foods or something? Still, if Dorian wanted to talk, that was fine. The last thing Carver wanted to do was get in the way -- not because he was altruistic, but more because he just didn’t want to be involved any more than strictly necessary. 

The nice thing about living in a one-room house was that Carver didn’t need to do much in the way of housecleaning. The bad thing about living in that  _ particular  _ one-room house was that it looked run-down no matter how clean it was. Carver emptied the trash and swept, but that was about all he could do. 

The sound of car tires on gravel came promptly at seven. The Range Rover that pulled up probably cost more than the whole farm. Dorian stepped out. “Hope you don’t mind, I brought some company.” Before Carver could answer, Dorian opened the back. 

Missy hopped down about as gracefully as a hundred-and-fifty pound dog could. Beside Carver, Lady quivered with excitement, looking up at him for permission. 

“It’s okay, Lady. Go on,” Carver said. The words weren’t out of his mouth before the dog leapt off the porch to see her mother. 

Dorian watched the reunion, fighting back a grin. “Cullen insisted I bring her,” he explained.

The dogs trotted off, Lady hopping like a flea to nibble at Missy’s ears. “It’s fine,” Carver said. “It’s good for them.”

Dorian stepped up on the porch, brandishing a bottle of wine. “Lest you think I invite myself over empty-handed.”

“Of course not.” Carver held the door wide.

“Well, Garrett said it was… rustic.” Dorian looked around with a carefully neutral expression.

Carver snorted. “It’s about to get a whole lot more ‘rustic’.” He handed a jelly jar to Dorian. “I don’t have any wine glasses.”

Dorian smirked. “As long as it’s not cracked, we’re fine.”

Carver watched as Dorian opened the bottle and poured him a glass. “So. You want to know Garrett’s favorite ice cream flavor or something?”

“I’m not here to talk about your brother. Also, he told us it’s peanut butter cup, which sounds dreadful.” Dorian served himself some wine. 

“Okay,” Carver said, not knowing where this was going. 

“I came to ask why you felt the need to borrow Louis Jourdan’s third-worst movie from the library.” Dorian watched him carefully as he sipped his drink. “The first and second, of course, being Swamp Thing and Return of the Swamp Thing. Waste of celluloid, both of them.”

Carver blinked. “What?”

“Gigi,” Dorian said. 

“Oh god,” Carver sighed, setting his cup down untouched. “Am I not allowed to borrow movies from the library without the whole damn town knowing?”

Dorian shrugged. “Normally your terrible taste in cinema is your own business. This is a special case.”

“Well I didn’t know it was bad, did I?” Carver swiped the cup from the table and took a drink. “I thought it’d be good because --” He cut himself off, taking another large swallow.

Dorian raised his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with Felix mentioning it to you, would it?”

Carver scowled into his cup. The wine was pretty good, actually. He scowled harder.

“I thought as much,” Dorian said. 

“Look I don’t see what the big deal is,” Carver huffed. “I don’t have cable, or internet, I’m stuck out here by myself with no one to… so I watched a movie someone recommended, what’s the problem?” He drained the cup and slammed it down harder than he’d intended. 

Dorian smirked, refilling it and topping off his own glass. “The big deal is that he didn’t recommend it. He hates that movie. He only mentioned it in passing, and then… what, you googled it and immediately got it from the library?”

Carver crossed his arms. “What are you doing here?”

Dorian gave him a piercing look, leaning back in his chair. “I came to see what your intentions are.” 

“Intentions? Really? What is he, your ward?”

“He’s my best friend,” Dorian clarified. “Closest thing I have to family. And there’s only so long I can watch him suffer.”

That got Carver’s attention. “What do you mean, suffer? Is he all right?” He leapt to his feet.

Dorian gave a cynical laugh. “I think you’ve answered my question. And sit down, he’s fine. Just pining dreadfully for a blue-eyed Ferelden who he’s convinced is straight.”

“What?” 

Shrugging, Dorian held up his hands. “I told him you weren’t, but he doesn’t believe me.”

_ “Pining?” _

“Good lord, don’t tell me you didn’t know,” Dorian scoffed, lifting his cup. He set it down again a second later without taking a sip. “Oh no. Really? Are you that hopeless?”

“No,” Carver muttered defensively.

Dorian sighed. “In a way, that’s good,” he said. “I thought you were stringing him along.”

Carver made a strangled noise. “What? I wouldn’t… augh,” he grunted. He was starting to feel tipsy, and not just from the wine. 

“That’s what your brother said. Well, after he recovered from the choking fit he got from laughing so hard.”

Groaning, Carver slumped further, folding his arms and resting his head on them. “Oh god, I am hopeless.”

Dorian laughed. “That makes two of you.”

There was a scratching noise at the door. Carver opened it, and the two dogs walked in. They completely ignored the men; instead, Missy sniffed carefully at Lady’s bed and the pile of toys, as well as the water and food dishes. Inspection done, she came over to Carver and put her chin on his knee. 

“All ship shape?” Carver murmured, patting her shoulder.

Missy gave a quiet  _ boof. _

“That’s uncanny,” Dorian shuddered. “I never get used to it.” Absently, he pushed his chair back from the table, allowing Lady to hop into his lap. He scritched behind her ears.

Carver snorted at the blatant hypocrisy. It was better than discussing his love life. “Did Cullen have Missy when you met?”

“Oh no,” Dorian shook his head. “He was still at Bull’s back then.”

“Wait.” Carver squinted at him. “Like, at Bull’s, as a client?”

Dorian laughed. “More or less. By the time I entered the picture, decidedly less, in fact. You knew he was in the service, yes?” When Carver nodded, Dorian went on. “He’d gone to Bull’s hostel once he got back from the war. Got his ‘head straight’, as Bull would say. He moved away for a bit, went back to his family, but he ended up coming back to town about six months later to visit. There was some sort of mix-up, and the supposedly free bed at Bull’s was occupied. Bull was only happy to share his own, though. You know how it goes.” He winked.

“Oh.” Somehow Carver felt like he should be more surprised. “Wait, so how did you meet?”

“Came to visit Felix, of course,” Dorian said. “And I met Bull and Cullen at the Stardrop on Friday night.”

“Why is this sounding familiar all of a sudden?” Carver grumbled.

Dorian shrugged, unconcerned. “We had a great deal of fun. I found excuses to visit more often. Bull lost interest once feelings came into the picture. Not really his thing, feelings. Eventually Cullen and I fell in love and got married. But we still enjoy a bit of fun on occasion, so, here we are.” He raised his cup.

Something about the cavalier way Dorian told the tale rubbed Carver wrong. Doubt began to gnaw at him. “Is that what Garrett is to you? A bit of fun?” He frowned. Not that Garrett couldn’t handle himself, but if Carver had to hear about his brother’s love life, it was the very least he could do to make sure he was treated with respect. 

Dorian blanched. “N-no,” he said carefully, setting his cup down. “No. Ah, we both enjoy his company very much, in fact.” His voice had gone soft, and he traced the rim of his glass with one finger.

“Oh. I mean. None of my business, really,” Carver added, keeping his voice gruff.

After a brief lull, Dorian leaned forward, shooing Lady from his lap. “Well. I should get going. Unless you want to start on the other bottle of wine I’ve got in the car, and you can regale me with embarrassing stories about your brother?”

Carver laughed. It was a terrible idea; he’d feel like hell tomorrow. But that wasn’t going to stop him. “How will you get home?”

“Psh, I can walk. Missy won’t steer me wrong, will you?”

The dog looked up at him and sneezed, somehow making it into a sound of disapproval.

“Alright fine, I’ll have Cullen come and drive us home. Happy?”

Missy’s tongue lolled out. 

“Don’t you laugh at me,” Dorian chided, waggling a finger.

Carver hid his smile by standing up and rooting through his cabinet. “You hungry? I’ve got some cheese and crackers.”

“Well seeing as we can’t very well order a pizza, that sounds perfect,” Dorian said. “I’ll just get that other bottle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _what no I would never stick a reference to one of my fics inside another one that's crazy_


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not a date. Except it totally is.

Red wine had never been Carver’s friend. He woke the next morning with a mouth like a desert and a pulsating boulder behind one eye. 

Totally worth it, though. Dorian turned out to be a lot of fun, even if he did use eight syllables when two would do. He had Carver laughing almost nonstop. Carver returned the favor by telling him about the time Garrett went by ‘Gary’ for a month because the guy he was sleeping with misheard him introduce himself at a club, and Garrett didn't want to correct him. 

Best of all, though, was the hope burbling up like a spring in Carver’s chest. Felix  _ liked  _ him. Carver still couldn’t believe it -- it simply made no sense that Felix would be interested in him -- but he no longer went out of his way to poke holes in the theory. 

Through the course of the day, however, a problem presented itself: what to do about his newfound knowledge. Dorian had sworn him to secrecy. And anyway, it wasn't like he could call Felix and say “Dorian says you like me” and expect that to go well.

He thought up a dozen different scenarios and dismissed them all. Carver was not good at instigating anything social, much less something like a date. Carver couldn’t afford much, so that ruled out a lot of options. And he had to work Friday, plus Felix was dog-sitting all weekend, which pushed everything out until next week, and how far in advance was too far to ask someone on a date?

By the time Carver was done for the day, he felt dizzy from thinking about it too much. This was stupid. He picked up his phone and dialed the infirmary. 

It picked up after two rings. “Doctor Alexius speaking.”

“Er. Hi. It’s Carver. Hawke.”  _ You idiot, how many Carvers do you think he knows? _

“Hello Carver, what seems to be the problem?” Felix’s voice was friendly and professional.

“Um, no problem. I just… ah, called to see how you liked the pickles?” Carver winced as he heard his voice pitch an octave higher than normal. 

“Oh! They’re delicious.”

“Good, good,” Carver almost laughed in relief.

“Listen,” Felix began, and Carver’s heart stopped. “I need to keep this phone line open for medical emergencies.”

“Right,” Carver said at once. “Of course you do, sorry, didn’t think --”

“Give me your number. I’ll text once I’m done here for the day.”

Carver’s heart jolted back to life, and he repeated his number. 

“Got it,” Felix said. Was he smiling? It sounded like he was smiling. “I’ll wrap things up here in a little bit.”

“Okay. Er, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Sounds good,” Felix said, and hung up.

Carver took a deep breath as he put the phone down. That… hadn’t gone so bad, actually. Of course, he still had no idea what he was going to say or do if Felix actually texted him. 

Suddenly he missed Bethany so much it hurt. She’d know exactly what to say. 

The moment passed, and Carver shook himself. Time to clean up, make some dinner. 

He was almost done with his meal when the phone dinged. Carver jumped in surprise, so much so that Lady scrambled to her feet, looking around for the danger. “It’s fine, sweetie,” he murmured. “I’m just jumpy.”

_ Hey, it’s Felix. finally done for the day. How are you? _

Carver wiped his hands on his pants. “I’m… good… just… finishing… dinner….” He muttered as he tapped the message out. He then added and deleted a smiley face, then added and deleted it again before hitting send.

The reply came about a minute later.  _ :) Do you mind if I call? Got my hands full here  _

“Oh god,” Carver groaned. It’d been all he could do to call Felix earlier; he wasn’t the best on the phone. Still, probably wouldn’t be great to get all picky about it.  _ Sure, that’s fine. _

The phone rang and Carver picked it up. “Hello?”

“Hi.” Felix’s voice sounded tinny -- Carver must’ve been on speakerphone. “Sorry about that,” Felix said. “I’m cooking dinner and it’s a bit, erm, messy. Makes it hard to text.”

“Oh, right,” Carver said. “What are you making?” 

“Chicken piccata.” Felix said it like it was something boring.

“That sounds good,” Carver said, and he meant it. He’d had the leftover boxed macaroni and cheese from the night before, with a cut up hot dog in it. And a big salad, too; he wasn’t an animal.

“I don’t know, I do tend to add an obscene amount of capers,” Felix laughed. “Anyway, I’m glad you called earlier. I don’t know if you heard, but Dorian and Cullen are going away this weekend.”

“Er, yeah, I heard,” Carver admitted, unsure where this was going.

“I’m going to be dog-sitting for them, and I thought -- well, it was Cullen’s suggestion, actually, otherwise I wouldn’t presume, I mean, it’s not my house, but -- ha, get to the point Felix -- maybe you could bring the puppy by for a visit?” 

Carver blinked. “What?”

“You don’t have to, I mean, I get it if that makes you uncomfortable, you know. It was just an idea.”

“I’d love to.”

“What, really?” Felix laughed in disbelief.

“Sure. I think Lady gets bored out here. She could use a play-date.” Carver wasn’t sure if Felix knew Dorian had been by, but he wasn’t going to mention it. 

“Great,” Felix said, and he was definitely smiling, Carver could tell. “Oh hell, my pasta’s boiling over,” he said a second later. The sound of hissing was clearly audible. “Got to go -- I’ll text you Saturday?”

“Sounds great,” Carver said, and a moment later the phone went silent. Carefully, he placed the phone on the table, like it was some precious thing. 

Lady came over, rearing onto her hind legs to put her front paws on Carver’s lap. Her tail waved slowly.

“I’ve got a date, thanks to you,” Carver told her.  _ And Dorian, and Cullen, and Garrett probably.  _ The fact that he had almost nothing to do with this plan was not lost on him. Still, beggars couldn’t be choosers. 

Having almost two days to wait was a blessing and a curse. It gave Carver a chance to do laundry, which was very, very good. But it also gave him far too long to think. He daydreamed constantly. Imaginary Carver was great at eye contact and banter, knew just when to touch a shoulder or how to lean in for a kiss. Real Carver began to think that maybe it wouldn’t be so hard this time. After all, Dorian said Felix was interested. That was half the battle, right? The more he imagined it, the more confident he felt. 

Friday blew by in an instant, and the Saturday farmer’s market was a complete blur. Felix had texted that Carver could stop by mid-afternoon, so Carver rushed home to clean up and change. He loaded Lady into the cab of the truck around 2:30 and headed back into town.

Lady was clearly confused by the fact that Carver was ringing the doorbell and not simply letting her into her old home. She pawed at the door and whined, eager to go in. 

“Hold on, girl. Can’t be rude,” Carver said. 

The door opened and Lady squirmed through as soon as it was wide enough to let her through. Felix laughed as she tangled in his legs, dashing behind him to launch herself at Missy. 

“Well  _ someone’s _ glad to be here,” Felix said.

_ Yeah, and the dog is, too.  _ Carver didn’t say that, though. He just grinned. “As long as she still comes home with me.”

“Oh, I never thought of that,” Felix admitted. “Do you think she’ll get confused?”

Carver shrugged, following Felix into the house. “Probably not. Mabaris are pretty smart.”

“Would you like some coffee? I was just about to make some. Or tea?”

“Coffee’s great.” Carver leaned on the kitchen island as Felix puttered around with the coffee machine. Precisely zero of the conversation topics he’d thought of over the last few days came to mind. And Felix seemed tense, not his usually warm and friendly self. Carver’s confidence level began a nosedive. 

“Was the market busy?” Felix asked politely. 

“Swamped,” Carver said. “I sold out of most everything.”

“Well that’s good, right? Cream and sugar?” 

“Yes please,” Carver said. He stirred a generous helping of both into his mug and took a sip. “Maker, this is good. I’ve been drinking instant.”

Felix made a face, scrunching up his nose. “No coffee maker?”

Carver shook his head. “Er, I didn’t bring one. And there’s really no place to put it, even if I had one. The kitchen is tiny.” Carver wasn’t exactly lying; the kitchen didn’t exist, and therefore, could be considered very small, right?

“I don’t think I’d survive,” Felix said. “I drink far too much of the stuff as it is. Though not as much as when I was in school.” He laughed, shaking his head.

Carver was more of a ‘cheap beer’ college kid than one that needed extra coffee to study, but he thought maybe that wasn’t a good conversation topic. “I did have a pretty regular dirty chai habit before I moved here,” he said. 

“Dirty?” Felix did the nose-scrunch again. God, he was so adorable.

“Oh, er, it’s a chai latte with a shot of espresso in it. Or two, depending on the morning.”

Felix’s eyes widened and he laughed. “That sounds… actually that sounds delicious. I do wish we had a coffee shop here,” he sighed. “I don’t miss much about city life, but coffee shops and take-out are on the list.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Carver said. Things were still awkward, although Carver couldn’t articulate what, exactly, the problem was. All he knew was that this was nothing like what he’d imagined.  _ Just relax and talk, you can do this.  _ “How long have you lived here?” Carver fought back a groan at his own question.  _ God, how fucking boring are you? It’s not a job interview. _

“Oh gosh, I moved here… almost nine years ago? That can’t be right, it feels like yesterday,” he laughed. “I’m getting old, I guess.”

Carver managed to not blurt out “how old are you”, but the effort disrupted his concentration on the conversation, and his mind went blank again. He chuckled instead and sipped his coffee, feeling the awkwardness increase exponentially as the conversation faltered.

Thank god for dogs. Missy came in, her nails ticking on the floor, while Lady scampered close behind. The older dog walked to the back door and sat, pointedly looking at the men.

“Time for outies, I see.” Felix set down his mug. “Honestly, if she could work the doorknobs, she wouldn’t even need a dog sitter. What do you think, should we take them for a walk, or just let them play?”

“They’ll be fine in the yard,” Carver said. “Lady’s not so great with leashes yet, so things might get kind of tangled.”

They took their coffees out back, sitting on the deck chairs. “So,” Felix said, once they’d settled in. “You decided on ‘Lady’, I see.”

Carver squirmed. “Kind of dull I guess.”

“No, it’s a classic,” Felix said. “I like it.”

There was another lull. Carver racked his brain for something to say. He was dying to know more about Felix; hell, he was dying just to listen to him talk. The problem was how to not make himself look dull in the process. Plus he had to figure out some way to let Felix know he wasn’t straight; clearly his pathetic attempts to flirt weren’t cutting it. He needed to say  _ something,  _ so he decided to punt.  “Who got the other puppies, do you know?”

“Oh, let me see.” Felix looked up at the sky while he thought. “Alistair took one -- his dog was the father, you know. Krem took one -- said he thought it’d be good therapy at the hostel. And Blackwall took the third.”

“Good they found homes so fast,” Carver said. 

Felix nodded. “It is, rather. I was tempted to take one myself but.... It’s still kind of new to me, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to give a dog a proper home.”

“I think that’s a sign you’d be an excellent dog owner,” Carver noted.

Felix smiled at his coffee cup. “That’s… very kind. Maybe someday. Did you have many pets, growing up?”

“We had a dog when I was younger. He died before we moved to Kirkwall, and then once we were there, we didn’t have space. Bethany always wanted another, but it never happened.”

“Your sister?” Felix guessed.

“Mmm,” Carver nodded, draining his coffee. How the hell had he ended up talking about this? He wanted Felix to think he was confident and fun, not moping about his late twin. “Do you mind if I get some more?” He held up his empty mug.

“Of course not,” Felix said, starting to stand up. “I could use a top up, myself.”

“I’ve got it,” Carver said, holding out his hand.

“Oh, um, thanks.” Felix gave him the mug. 

Their fingertips brushed, and Carver jerked in surprise. He immediately tried to pass if off as a cough, clearing his throat. “Nothing in it, right?”

Felix glanced up at him and away, the faintest line forming on his brow. “Er, no, just black. Thanks.”

Once inside, Carver’s hands were shaking as he added the cream and sugar to his own mug.  _ Calm down, for god’s sake.  _

Armed with the refills, Carver headed back out. Felix took the mug by the handle, murmuring his thanks, not quite meeting his eyes. Carver felt a tickle of panic and shoved it aside.

It was a beautiful afternoon, by most objective measures: warm, sunny, a light breeze. The dogs had stopped frolicking and were laying in the grass, panting in contentment. Carver was too nervous to enjoy it, wracking his brain for something to say. He’d just decided that even something about the weather was better than nothing when Felix’s phone rang.

“I’m sorry, I need to take this,” Felix sighed, looking at the number. “The life of a small-town doctor, you know.” He stood and answered the phone, walking back into the house. 

Carver tried not to eavesdrop. Whatever was going on, it was a long-ish call. Carver drank his coffee, wondering if he should leave or what.

Felix came back out. “I’m terribly sorry, but I need to go check on a patient.” 

“Right,” Carver nodded, swallowing the surge of annoyance that rose up. He snapped his fingers and called for the dogs, who trotted dutifully inside.

Felix was already gathering his jacket and keys. He seemed distracted. Carver hurried to leave, trying not to let the disappointment show. “Well, it was nice seeing you,” he said, opening the front door. “I hope everything’s okay, you know, with… whatever.”

“It’s probably nothing,” Felix said with a hollow smile. “But best to know for sure.” He was right on Carver’s heels.

Carver nodded. “Right. Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Felix said. He walked off at a brisk pace towards his office, shoulders hunched, not looking back.

By the time Carver got home, the vague miasma of disappointment had coalesced into a lump that sat low in his throat. The more he thought about it, the worse it got. Despite his excitement, the afternoon had been rife with awkwardness and discomfort. How had Carver ever thought it could be otherwise? Like he could magically transform into someone that was interesting and self-assured. Stupid.

No wonder Felix had acted funny. Probably realized how much better he could do for himself. It was bound to happen sooner or later. 

Carver picked up his phone. Should he text? He wanted to. What was he going to say? “Sorry I’m so boring?” He set the phone down. 

A second later, he angrily grabbed it again. No, he  _ had _ to say something. This wasn’t like someone he’d never see again back home. He didn’t want to be rude. Felix had asked him to hang out, so the polite thing to do would be to text. Right?  _ Hope things are ok with work.  _ Send. There. That was fine. It was true, it was courteous, and Felix wouldn’t feel obligated to say anything about the rest of the afternoon.

Carver’s phone pinged later that evening.  _ Fine now thx. Please apologize to Lady for cutting her date short. :)  _ Another text followed a second later.  _ I’d say we should try again, but under the circumstances I can’t promise that anytime soon.  _

For a moment, Carver’s stomach dropped -- did that mean Felix didn’t want to hang out again? -- but then his brain kicked in. “Because he doesn’t have a dog, you idiot,” he chided himself under his breath. Well, it was a better response than he’d been expecting. Still, it wasn’t exactly an overture.

Hearing the word  _ dog  _ caused Lady to sit up and take notice, coming over to nuzzle his legs. “Yes, we’re talking about you, sweetie,” Carver murmured. “Shame he doesn’t have a pup like you, eh?” He blinked. 

Somewhere in the depths of his brain, Imaginary Carver saw an opportunity, and Real Carver took it.  _ Guess you should get that dgo after all, then. ;)  _ He shakily hit send, then saw his mistake. Dammit, he couldn’t even do this properly. * _ dog  _

Carver lived and died an infinite number of times while the message ellipsis flared to life, then dimmed, then lit up again. 

_ Maybe I should. ;)  _

Carver stared at the text a long time. Maybe it wasn’t hopeless after all? He wiped his hands on his pants; when had they gone clammy? His leg jiggled with nerves.  “What do I say, Lady? Shit.” 

The dog just stared at him, tongue lolling out. 

“You are no help,” he grumbled.  _ Lady and I would like that. :)  _ That was good, right? Make it obvious he’s not just talking about the dog? Carver hit send before he could think about it too much.

The reply was quick.  _ Me too. Talk to you soon? _

Carver grinned. He continued to smile as he sent a  _ sounds good :)  _ back. It felt like he might never stop, in fact. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another one of Varric's community events. Definitely the most romantic night Carver had ever experienced, jellyfish or no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so for those of you who've actually played Stardew Valley, I swapped out the order of the events. For those of you who _don't_ play, yes this is a real thing that happens in the game. 
> 
> Also I'm posting this a day earlier than normal because I just couldn't hold it in any longer.

It was becoming obvious that Varric would find any excuse to party. Carver read the photocopied flier jammed in his mailbox for the third time, still not sure what it meant. “Dance of the Moonlight Jellies? What the hell?”

The cartoon jellyfish drawn on the paper and the beachside location were his only clues that the event had to do with the ocean and not dessert. Still, Carver was going to go, no question. If it was like any of the other festivals Varric threw, Felix would be there. And Carver was not about to miss that.

It was a week since they’d attempted to hang out. The day after his near-disaster of a dogsitting date, Carver had gotten a text from Garrett.  _ Dorian says to tell you you’re both pathetic.  _ Why he’d chosen to relay the message through Carver’s brother was a mystery, but then again maybe Garrett had offered. He’d never passed up a chance to give Carver shit before. 

Strangely, Carver actually appreciated the sentiment. If Carver and Felix were  _ both _ pathetic, that meant that the doctor was still interested, right? Which Carver was pretty sure he knew, but it never hurt to have some confirmation.

Since then, he and Felix had texted. Not every day, but close. And it was just stupid things, really. Felix had sent a picture of his dinner, including some of the pickles Carver had given him. Carver had asked the following day if it was wrong that he wished a fiery death on every mosquito that existed. Just little stuff, but Carver got a little jolt of excitement every time his phone pinged.

So he took a picture of the jellyfish on the flier and sent it to Felix.  _ Please tell me we don’t eat them?  _

He’d gotten back into the cottage and had poured himself a glass of water when the reply came.  _ Ha! :D No they are too pretty to eat. You’ll see. ;) _

Carver felt a little flutter. There was probably an opportunity for a dirty joke in there somewhere, but not being Garrett, he couldn’t figure out how to make it work.  _ Oh good. You going?  _

_ Never miss it. See you there?  _

Carver snorted. Like he’d pass up the chance to see Felix.  _ Definitely.  _

Not wanting to be unprepared, Carver asked about it at the Diamondback game that night. “So what’s the deal with the jelly night thing?”

“Dance of the moonlight jellies!” Anders proclaimed. “My favorite holiday.”

“Because it takes place right outside your house,” Donnic noted, dealing the cards. “The rest of us have to haul everything down to the beach, in the dark.”

“Well that’s not my fault,” Anders sniffed. “And you don’t  _ need _ anything. It’s very  _ romantic.”  _ He sighed and batted his eyelashes at Fenris pointedly.

The man grunted and didn’t look up. “Standing in the dark and getting eaten alive by insects is not romantic.”

“Remember the year Solas slipped on the dock and fell in?” Bull laughed, sorting his cards. “Hilarious.”

“But what  _ is  _ it?” Carver pressed, tossing his ante into the pot.

“Every year, a school of bioluminescent jellyfish migrate through this area. Someone figured out that if you set something glowing in the water, they’ll swim close enough to see from the shore,” Cullen explained. “It’s quite pretty.”

“Pretty?” Anders objected. “It’s ethereal. Gorgeous. Transcendent. Standing there with the one you love, watching the distant glow come nearer and nearer, listening to the sound of the waves….” He sighed melodramatically. “And then everyone comes to my house for the afterparty.”

Carver had learned that Anders wasn’t actually that over the top, so he guessed the display had something to do with the scowling man sitting across the table. Carver couldn’t be sure, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if Anders was playing footsie with Fenris, or trying to.

“I usually notice the tedium of sitting in a camp chair for hours and the squalling of the children as they get tired from staying up too late,” Fenris grumbled. 

“Bring a flask this year,” Bull suggested. “I always do.”

Carver didn’t have a flask, or a camp chair. He showed up on Saturday night promptly at nine, as the flier had stated, freshly bathed and shaved and buzzing with nerves. As he approached the beach, however, he stumbled to a halt.

Though he’d tried extra hard to be on time, the docks were already swarming with people. It appeared that getting there early was key to getting a good vantage point, as the docks were clogged with folding chairs and coolers. There were a few tiki torches lit, but by and large it was dark. How was he going to find Felix in all this? 

Carver hovered at the edge of the dock closest to the entrance, peering into the gloom. Bull was sitting nearby with Krem; it was a terrible place to see the water, but from the size of the coolers they’d brought, they were treating the whole thing like a tailgate party anyway. “Hey, Carv, glad you made it,” Bull called, waving him over. “I’d say pull up a chair, but I think you’d be better off on the far side,” he said, pointing. “The good doctor was looking for you.”

“Er, thanks,” Carver nodded. He threaded his way through the crowd to Blackwall’s shack. The docks on the other side of the building didn’t have as good of a view, so there were fewer people to trip over.

“Carver!” Felix called, waving to him.

Carver made his way over. There wasn’t much room, jammed up against the side of the building. “Hi,” he said. His heart felt like it was trying to climb out his throat.

“You’re just in time,” Felix smiled.

“Apparently I’m late,” Carver fretted, looking around. 

“I think people like the competition of finding the best place more than they like the view,” Felix said. 

“Finally.” From the other side of Felix, Dorian huffed in annoyance. “I’m beginning to think your family is genetically predisposed to making me wait.” 

“It’s not his fault Celene started a turf battle,” Cullen said, putting an affectionate hand on Dorian’s shoulder. “I should’ve warned you to come early. It's fine though -- look, Varric’s just about to light the lights.”

On the end of the longest pier, Varric was saying something, though Carver couldn’t make it out. Probably thanking everyone for coming. The children of the village were gathered in front of him, and after a second, they cheered. Then, one-by-one, points of light began to appear in their hands as they snapped their glowsticks.

“What’s going on?” Carver asked, leaning towards Felix slightly. 

Felix didn’t lean away, even inched a little closer. “They put the glow lights in bottles that are attached to string. And then Varric and Blackwall throw them into the sea, and we wait,” Felix whispered.

Carver watched as the vessels were cast into the water. The crowd noise dissipated to the occasional cough or sound of a beverage being set down. The glowing bottles bobbed further and further out to sea, easily visible with the lack of moonlight. 

Anders was right; it was romantic. On the other side of Felix, Cullen had his arms around Dorian’s waist, the two of them swaying slightly, like they were dancing to their own private music. Other couples were holding hands, or had their arms around one another’s shoulders. 

Carver was practically quivering from the proximity to Felix, close enough that he could feel the heat from the man’s skin on his arm. Tentatively, hardly daring to breathe, Carver shifted his weight, brushing the back of his hand against Felix’s wrist. 

Beside him, he heard Felix draw in his breath quietly, as if he was merely sighing. But it came with the sensation of Felix’s hand moving against Carver, just the merest touch, not even a caress.

Carver stared at the water, afraid to even blink. He shifted his weight again, and this time his pinky made contact with Felix’s fingertips. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. Thankfully, his brain had gone blank, otherwise he might’ve been embarrassed; Carver hadn’t been this keyed up about the prospect of holding someone’s hand since middle school. 

The hushed murmurs began further out on the dock, as the people with the better view began to stir. “It’s starting,” Felix whispered. 

Carver looked over at him. He couldn’t see much, but Felix was gazing out to the water, biting his lip. When he turned to look at Carver, it was like someone had set a firework off in Carver’s chest. 

He didn’t think; couldn’t think. His pinky slid further, dragging against the back of Felix’s hand. Felix was shivering, though it was a warm night, and it felt like he leaned a little closer into Carver. 

Varric and Blackwall were pulling the glowing bottles back to shore. In their wake came the jellyfish, like the opposite of shadows. Carver wasn’t the type to toss around words like ‘sublime’. And certainly that was beyond his power to convey now, too wrapped up in the sensation of Felix’s hand. But it was beautiful. The jellyfish glimmered, dozens of them drifting closer until they were right up to the docks. 

He bent to the side to whisper. “How long will they stay?” he asked. Whatever the duration was, it wouldn’t be long enough, Carver was fairly certain.

“Not long. Blackwall gives them a little food, and then they’ll swim out again.” Felix leaned up to answer, his nose nudging Carver’s ear. 

Blood rushed out of Carver’s head, and he shifted his weight again. This time it was for real; the sensation had made him half hard and he was in danger of getting pinched by his pants. Felix licked his lips and swallowed, the tiny sounds sending even more blood to Carver’s dick. He turned his head a little. He couldn’t kiss Felix, not like this, in front of everyone, could he? Plus even if he wanted to (which he did, so badly he could barely stand it) he literally couldn’t -- he would’ve had to turn his body, and he didn’t have room. 

Carver nodded. He felt Felix lean away again. Which made sense; there was no reason for him to be so close, except to say something. Didn’t mean Carver wasn’t disappointed, though. 

The next few minutes flew by. Carver frowned when the jellyfish began to drift away again. What was he supposed to do now? As soon as the crowd thinned, there would be no excuse to stand so close. 

Sure enough, Felix soon moved away, sighing and stretching. The hush lifted as the villagers began to chat as they cleaned up.

“Well? What do you think?” Dorian’s voice called out.

“Beautiful,” Carver said. He wasn’t sure whether to pretend nothing had happened or what.

“Isn’t it just?” Dorian smirked. “Are you coming to Anders’? Or do you need to get up at some ungodly hour tomorrow?”

“Oh, er, I don’t know if I should -- he didn’t invite me, exactly,” Carver said. He chanced a glance at Felix. The doctor was busy taking a drink from a bottle of water, no sign whether he was going or not.

“It’s not that sort of party,” Dorian said. “And anyway,  _ I’m  _ inviting you.”

“I guess I could go for a little bit,” Carver hedged.

“Capital,” Dorian nodded. “Hope you like cats.”

Felix had tagged along as well. He still hadn’t quite met Carver’s eyes, but neither had he moved far away from his side. He was, however, fidgeting with his fingers, as if they were cold, or itched. 

Anders lived in a small house right off the beach. Unlike Carver’s place, the rundown interior seemed more aesthetic than a matter of age. “Carver, welcome to my little dump,” Anders said, greeting him with a wide smile. “And Felix! Been a few years since you’ve dropped in.” He elbowed the doctor.

Felix looked embarrassed, and Carver felt a surge of protectiveness. “Sorry I’m empty-handed,” Carver said, trying to shift the conversation away from Felix.

Anders waved away his apology. “You did contribute. Your pickled fiddleheads are the centerpiece of my antipasta. Anyway, snacks are in here, booze is in the kitchen. Enjoy.” He clapped him on the shoulder and moved on to greet some other guests.

Carver hesitated. This was not like after the egg festival; this was a real party. It was dark, the music just a little too loud, couples dancing or getting cozy in the corners. Dorian and Cullen had melted into the crowd almost instantly, leaving them alone. Felix looked uncomfortable. 

Carver’s nervousness drained away when faced with Felix’s discomfort. He put a hand to the small of Felix’s back, just lightly. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Yes, thanks,” Felix nodded gratefully. 

There were several open bottles of wine. Carver recognized the label of one; it was the kind Dorian had brought over. Carver grabbed it, brandishing the bottle with his eyebrows raised. Felix nodded, glancing around distractedly. 

Carver found some plastic cocktail cups and poured the wine. Through the window, he could see the party had spilled out onto the back deck. He handed Felix a cup, cocking his head toward the back door.

It was quieter outside, the music a dim murmur in the background. The deck was spacious, lit with fairy lights strung from the nearby trees. Carver sort-of recognized some of the people that were standing around, but not enough to go talk to anyone. 

He found an empty spot in the corner and took a seat on the bench railing. Felix hesitated for just a second, then sat beside him. “So,” he said, flashing a smile. 

“So,” Carver agreed. “This… isn’t exactly what I was expecting.” He looked around.

“Mmm,” Felix nodded. He wrinkled his nose. “It’s probably obvious I usually go home after the beach,” he said.

The implication that Felix was only there because of him was obvious even to Carver. He felt warm all over. “Not your kind of party?”

“Just a bit loud,” Felix said. “And late. And….” His eyes darted to the other side of the deck and away again. Sera was there with Dagna; they were giggling and smooching. “Makes me feel old, I guess,” Felix admitted, chuckling weakly.

“You should come by my place,” Carver joked, bumping his shoulder. “There’s nothing like sitting in your grandfather’s recliner and watching the weather on TV before going to bed at 8:30 to make you feel ancient.”

Felix laughed, a real laugh. “Fair enough.” 

They sat for a minute, not speaking. But it didn’t feel awkward; or at least, not in a bad way. It was more like anticipation. They’d crossed some invisible boundary, that much seemed clear, even if Carver wasn’t sure what would come next.

Dorian and Cullen came outside, Bull on their heels. He was telling them a story and had a hand on each of their shoulders as they all laughed. It was very familiar and comfortable; for once it didn’t make Carver lonely to see. They didn't come over, leaving Carver and Felix alone in their corner, for which Carver was grateful. 

“Did you enjoy the jellies?” Felix asked him, taking a sip of his wine.

“It definitely wasn’t what I was expecting,” Carver said.

“Oh?” Felix raised his eyebrows. 

Carver realized that there were two ways to interpret what he’d just said, and one of those wasn’t so great. “Um. It was better, actually. What, um, what did you think?”

Felix looked into his cup, fighting a smile. “Seemed to go by too fast this year.”

Carver intended to say something else, but a yawn caught him unawares. Felix laughed, and that turned into a yawn, too. 

“Sorry,” Carver mumbled. “It’s pretty late for me.”

“Me too,” Felix said.

“Do you think anyone would mind if we left?” Carver asked, looking around.

“Mind? No. Notice? Yes.”

Carver looked at him, his gaze dipping down to Felix’s lips before he could help himself. “I’m okay with that,” he said.

“Me too,” Felix said again. 

They slipped down the back steps and made their way through the side garden to the main path back to the Village. It seemed like they were at Felix’s house in the blink of an eye. 

“Well,” Felix said. He unlocked the door but didn’t open it. “It was great seeing you.”

“Yeah,” Carver said. “You too.”

Felix didn’t make any move to open the door. Carver swallowed, inching closer. Felix stared at his lips for a long moment, then looked back up at him through his lashes.

Slowly, Carver leaned down. Even when there was just a fraction of an inch between their lips, he paused, giving Felix the chance to move away. 

But he didn’t. He leaned up, kissing Carver just as lightly as their hands had touched earlier. 

Carver finally got to do what he’d wanted for months, sliding a hand up to cradle Felix’s jaw. Felix sighed against him, giving the still-chaste kiss an edge.

It wasn’t until Carver felt Felix’s hand slip to his waist, grasping at his shirt, that he felt bold enough to deepen the kiss. Felix shuddered and gasped at the brush of tongue, and if Carver wasn’t fully hard before, he was now. 

Before things got any more heated, the sound of approaching footsteps and laughter interrupted them. The door to Felix’s apartment was tucked behind the building, but still, it wasn’t exactly private. Carver broke the kiss, putting some space between them. “Well,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. He didn’t know what to say, exactly. Felix hadn’t invited him in, and he certainly wasn’t going to push it. 

Felix glanced in the direction of the sound with a disappointed sigh. Then he looked back up at Carver. Carver was relatively sure that no one had ever looked at him like that before. He wasn’t even sure what was sparkling in Felix’s eyes -- wonder or fear or happiness or some ever-shifting mix of all three. Whatever it was, Carver felt it jolt through him like electricity. 

“It’s getting late,” Carver whispered, trying to give Felix an out. 

“It is,” Felix said. From somewhere in the village, a door opened and shut, and then it was quiet. “Can I just --” He didn’t finish, just reached out for Carver again.

The second kiss was more confident and quickly veered toward frantic. Felix lost his balance as they kissed, stumbling against Carver. And god, didn’t that feel amazing, wrapping his arms around Felix? At least until Carver realized the doctor was shaking.

“You okay?” he whispered.

“Mmm,” Felix nodded. “Sorry. I get dizzy.” He found his footing and stood up straight. 

“Right, well. I’ll, um, let you get some rest,” Carver said. 

“Walk safe,” Felix said. “Text me when you get home? There’s a lot of tree roots and loose cobblestones between here and your house.”

“I will,” Carver said. He took a step back, because otherwise he’d just be tempted to keep kissing Felix. “See you.”

“See you,” Felix replied.

Carver did not trip on the way home. He wasn’t quite sure his feet were hitting the ground at all, in fact. He hardly remembered the walk, or skipping up his porch steps, or letting the dog out. There were far more important things to focus on, like the fact that he kissed Felix. God, he  _ kissed Felix.  _ Felix kissed  _ him _ . Felix  _ made out  _ with him. Well, almost.

Carver did, however, make sure to text once he was home and in his pajamas. “I’m… home….” he wrote, then paused. Damn, what should he say? He was always so bad at this part. He saved the message to his drafts and texted Garrett instead.  _ kissed felix what do I text him  _

It wasn’t until after he hit send that he realized it was late. Still, his brother replied almost immediately.  _ u sly dog :) _ There followed a series of blank boxes. Carver was grateful he couldn’t see whatever emojis Garrett thought were appropriate for the situation. And then finally, another message: _ just tell him what u feel  _

Carver scoffed out loud.  _ what, I like kissing you? uh no _

_ uh yes trust your brother I have 2x more boyfriends than u _

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Carver groaned.  _ fuck you good night  _

He waited a moment as his brother’s response came in -- more blank boxes. Carver re-opened his text to Felix, chewing his lip. “Fuck it,” he muttered.  _ I’m home. Also I really like kissing you. _

Regret kicked in almost instantaneously. “Oh god, why did I say that?” he groaned. “Lady, why did I say that?” 

Lady perked up from the bed, where she’d just gotten comfortable. She started to get up and Carver felt a flush of guilt. “Oh, no, sweetie, it’s fine, you don’t….” His protest was too late; she was already up, front paws on his knee, trying her best to lick his face. “Okay. Sweetheart, no, I'm.... Okay, back to bed.”

Carver’s phone pinged and he lunged for it. Felix had responded.  _ Oh good because I liked it too.  _ Carver  read it four times, taking deep breaths. Thank god. Another message came in:  _ Maybe we can hang out again?  _

_ yes definitely :)  _

_ ok I’ll get in touch soon. Sweet dreams. ;) _

Carver responded in kind, then set his phone down. He took another deep breath, then got into bed. 

The problem was, of course, that he wasn’t remotely tired anymore. Oh, it was late, very late, but he was way too keyed up. He laid in bed, staring at the ceiling. Without any distractions, his mind wandered back to the kisses. Felix was a fantastic kisser. God, what would he be like in bed? Carver felt vaguely guilty for even assuming things would go that far. 

Not guilty enough to stop thinking about it, though. He wasn’t even fantasizing; it was more like anticipation. He hadn’t had sex since New Year’s, if the drunken, fumbling handjobs he’d traded with Michel at the office holiday party even counted as sex. Shit, did he even have any condoms? He didn’t. And he certainly wasn’t going to get them at Alistair’s. He might as well take out a billboard announcing his intentions. Which meant going into the mega mart, or taking a special trip to the next town over. Did Amazon have condoms? 

With an annoyed grunt, he rolled to his side. No point in jumping the gun. Felix obviously wasn’t in a hurry to fall into bed. Just because he liked kissing didn’t mean he wanted more, Carver told himself sternly. But what if he did, though? 

Suddenly he realized the notification on his phone was blinking. Carver launched himself from bed and snatched it off the kitchen table. It wasn’t a text from Felix, though -- it was Garrett again.  _ well?  _

Carver made a noise halfway between a laugh and a sigh.  _ You were right but my fuck you still stands.  _ Carver switched the phone off and put it face down. His brother’s inevitable gloating could wait till tomorrow.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a proper date.

This time, there was no question: no dogs, no ambiguity, no vague terms like “hang out” or “get together”. Felix had asked Carver on a date. A  _ date- _ date. And of course Carver had said yes. 

Felix had suggested a picnic in the park, which suited Carver just fine. He was sure to get to the spot early for once. Carver hadn’t explored the village park much since he’d moved to town. At the moment it was empty, the shadows long under the trees, buzzing with insects in the early summer heat. There was a playground that looked like it got a fair amount of use, and that was cheery enough. But there was also a large building that looked to be condemned. Hard to tell with the windows covered in plywood, but it might’ve been a school or something at one point. Definitely not a house, anyway -- there was a clock over the door. It put Carver in a vaguely melancholic mood, seeing it all boarded up. He caught some motion out of the corner of his eye, and turned to see Felix walking towards him. The melancholy evaporated. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Felix said, panting a little. He looked amazing. Carver usually saw him in a button down and khakis, but tonight he was wearing… well, it was still a button down, but it was that loose, almost see-through fabric -- linen, maybe? The top two buttons were undone in the heat, and the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. Plus he had on the kind of shorts Carver always associated with rich people at beach resorts, the kind that were soft and wrinkly and expensive, the kind that made Carver look hopelessly rumpled but just made Felix look relaxed and comfortable. 

Carver began to regret his polo and cargo shorts, but he didn’t have a lot of wardrobe options. “Just got here,” Carver said. “Can I help with that?” He pointed at the basket Felix was holding.

“Oh, no, I’ve got it. Here, there’s a spot we can set up.” Felix led him to a little fenced in area next to the building. It was overgrown, surrounded on three sides by tall hedges and trees. At the center were a few paving stones, now covered in moss, and a marble bench. “Is this okay?”

Carver didn’t say what he was thinking, which was  _ we could be on the ass end of the moon and I’d be happy,  _ going instead for a more generic, “Yeah, of course. It’s great.”

Felix nodded, relieved, and began to set up. He had what Carver might’ve called a “pick-a-nick” basket, the kind with the folding lid. He didn’t call it that now, though, just helped Felix arrange a checkered cloth on the ground. 

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I brought a bit of everything,” Felix said, unpacking containers. 

“I’ll eat anything,” Carver said. “Me and food go way back.”

Felix laughed quietly as he continued to pull packages from the basket.

“Maker,” Carver said. “Is there a bottom on that thing? You brought a feast.” He was only half-kidding. There were several varieties of cheese, sliced fruit, cured sausage, some kind of garlicky bean dip or hummus, a baguette, a bottle of wine, and last but not least, a suspiciously familiar jar of pickled green beans.

“Did you -- you didn’t  _ buy _ that, I hope?” Carver raised an eyebrow.

Felix shrugged. “I really like pickles,” he explained.

Carver shook his head. “I would’ve brought some, if you’d told me. You shouldn’t  _ pay _ for them.”

“Next time,” Felix promised. 

They spent a few minutes assembling their respective plates. “This is nice,” Carver said after a bit, looking at the tree canopy above them. It felt more secluded than it actually was.

“I like it here,” Felix agreed. “Though I don’t come as often as I’d like.”

“Why not?” Carver took a bite of bread and cheese.

“Er, it’s, ah, a popular spot. For, um. Couples.” Felix stared intently into his cup.

“Ohhh,” Carver nodded. “Gotcha. We had a spot like that back in Lothering.”

“Should I ask Leliana about it?” Felix looked up at him, but his eyes were mischievous, not accusatory.

Carver snorted. “If she knew about it, it wasn’t because of me. When I knew her I was just an acne-ridden kid with knock-knees and a chip on his shoulder.” He shook his head. 

Felix smiled. “Ah, the glory of teenage years. I was skinny and sick all the time. Spent most of fifteen in bed. I would never want to go back, let me tell you.”

Carver didn’t say anything, just nodded and helped himself to some cheese. He’d go back in a heartbeat, of course; not because he’d enjoyed being a teenager, but because Bethany was still around then. And there was no way he was going to bring that up. “How did you end up here?”

“Oh, that,” Felix said. He put his plate down and leaned back on his hands. God, he was beautiful. “Well, my original career trajectory was a non-starter, so I decided to become a doctor,” he began.

“Wait -- medicine was your  _ backup _ plan?” Carver boggled. “What were you going for originally? Astronaut? Super-spy?”

Felix smiled. “Pilot, actually,” he said. “But being sick so much left me weak, and with the balance issues and bad eyesight….” He sighed, then shrugged. “I decided to go to medical school instead. My father was a professor at Vyrantium State --” Here Carver choked on his wine; even in Ferelden and the Marches, people knew of the Tevinter college, the most prestigious outside of Minrathous University. “So instead I went to Minrathous University,” Felix finished.

Carver blinked. “So, what you’re saying is, your father is brilliant, and you’re even more brilliant.”

“Dorian would tell you MU is highly overrated. He was my father’s star pupil,” Felix said. 

Carver snorted. “But how did you end up here? You could’ve gone anywhere, surely.”

Felix tilted his head back and forth. “I’d come through here a few times, on my way to Ostwick. When I was done with my residency there was a position open here for a GP, and I took it.” He shrugged, like it was a simple thing. “Kind of boring, sorry.”

“It’s not boring,” Carver objected.

Felix huffed. “Well compared to dropping everything to come start a farm from scratch by yourself it is.”

“Oh psh,” Carver scoffed. “That wasn’t interesting. That was stupid. If I hadn’t squandered three years avoiding paperwork, I wouldn’t have ended up here at all, probably.”

“No?” Felix leaned forward and grabbed some pear slices. “Your grandfather was certain you’d take over for him.”

“People keep saying that,” Carver grumbled. “Honestly, I barely knew the man.”

Felix didn’t exactly look surprised, which was itself unexpected. Instead he nodded. He looked kind of sad, actually. 

Carver wasn’t sure how to take that. “Sorry. He was probably your patient, huh. I guess we could talk about something cheerier.”

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Felix said. “You must be tired of people talking about him all the time.”

“Well, I mean. Family stuff is… not my favorite subject usually.”

Felix poured a little more wine into each of their cups. “Well, what  _ is  _ your favorite subject?” He smiled gently.

_You,_ Carver wanted to say, which was nine kinds of creepy. As he struggled to come up with something else -- _anything_ else \-- to say, his gaze snagged on the hollow of Felix’s collarbone. An overwhelming urge to lick the skin washed over him. “Um. I, uh….” He lifted his eyes back up to Felix’s face, trying to concentrate. 

What he found there was not in any way helpful. Felix had that  _ look,  _ the one he’d had the other night on the docks, and later, when they’d kissed: desire and a little bit of fear. Not that Carver for an instant thought Felix was scared of  _ him. _ But he recognized that apprehension that comes when you want something just a little too much for your own good, a little too much to be safe. 

Carver tentatively leaned closer, the motion coming in fits and starts. Felix leaned in too, his lips parted enough that Carver could see a glimpse of his teeth. Even with the bad angle, Carver groaned quietly at the sensation of Felix’s lips against his own, feeling the faintest tremble there, the way his breath hitched.

They fumbled briefly, trying to fit together, until finally Carver rose to his knees to face Felix properly. And then it was Felix groaning, quiet and a little needy, and god if Carver didn’t feel that in every bit of him, that desperate  _ want _ and the confusion of the desire being fulfilled, because how was this even possible? How could something be so sweet and so sensual at the same time? How was it that Felix wanted to kiss him at all?

Felix was the one to take things further this time, deepening the kiss, his hands sliding against Carver’s ribs and stomach. He was balanced on his tailbone, and when he began to lean backwards, Carver simply went with him. Oh god, and  _ this:  _ Felix underneath him, Carver’s thigh between his legs, both of them moving and shifting against each other. Carver could feel Felix was hard; Maker knows his own erection was straining against the fly of his shorts. 

The sound of shuffling in the bushes broke the moment, and they both froze. A squirrel dashed from one shrub to the next. Carver suddenly realized how completely inappropriate it was, making out like this in the middle of the park. He blinked and looked down at Felix. The doctor’s face was also alarmed, and Carver rolled off of him immediately. “Sorry, sorry.”

Felix sat up, and if he looked embarrassed, at least he was laughing about it quietly. “No, it’s… it’s fine,” he said. “I got a little carried away there.”

“Yeah, me too,” Carver said, like that wasn’t obvious. 

“Should we, um.” Felix cleared his throat and looked at the remainder of their dinner. He started to put lids on things.

“Yeah, uh. Yeah,” Carver said, following suit. Within a few moments everything was packed back up. It was getting dark anyway. “So….” Carver scratched his ear. “What, uh…. That is….”

“What do we do now?” Felix guessed. 

“It sounds so much better when you say it,” Carver said. What was the normal thing to do after dinner? Go out for drinks? He didn’t want to face the Stardrop right now, flushed and fighting down a boner. “Would you like to, um, come to my house? I mean, I’ve got some blackberries. We could have dessert?” He cringed at how pathetically transparent that sounded. “I mean you don’t have to. Not trying to, you know --”

Felix cut him off. “That sounds wonderful. Do you mind if I drop this off at home?” He hefted the basket.

Carver felt his face twist into a grin. He probably looked like an idiot. “Really? I mean, yeah, that’s great.”

It only took a few minutes to get to Felix’s place. Carver followed him in. He couldn’t see much -- Felix only turned on the light in the foyer and the ones under the kitchen cabinets. From what Carver could see, it was homey, kind of like an Ikea catalog, only nicer. The doctor hurriedly stowed the containers in the fridge. At the last second he turned and rooted around in the freezer. “Would ice cream help?”

“Doesn’t it always?” 

Felix stowed the carton in a grocery bag, along with a bottle of something he pulled from the cabinet. A few minutes later they were walking to Carver’s house. Felix had brought a little flashlight, which he shone on the ground in front of them. Every now and then he’d stumble, and Carver would catch him by the elbow, until finally Carver just kept a hand on his back, resting lightly between his shoulder blades. It felt incredible, to be able to touch him like this.

“Here it is,” Carver said when they emerged from the woods. Suddenly he remembered the enormous flaw in his plan: Felix would see his pathetic little cabin. Well, it would have to happen sooner or later, right? “It’s not much,” Carver mumbled, wondering when was the last time he’d changed the sheets, and whether that would matter.

“I’ve always liked it here,” Felix said. “It’s quiet and cozy.”

Carver kicked himself; of course Felix had been here, probably tending to Amell near the end. “Well it hasn’t changed,” Carver admitted. 

Lady greeted them happily at the door. Carver let her out, then fetched the berries and some bowls. “Sorry they don’t match,” he said, handing the nicer dish to Felix. 

Felix grinned. “I won’t tell if you won’t.” He pulled the container of ice cream from the bag. “Do you have something to scoop this with?”

Reaching for the carton, Carver cleared his throat. “Er, not exactly?” He grabbed a knife from the drawer instead, running it under the hot tap. The ice cream had softened considerably on their walk; Carver slid the knife around the edge, then sliced the lump in half, and half again. He pried them out one quarter each, then dumped a handful of berries on top. “Not very pretty, I’m afraid.”

“Are you kidding? That’s remarkably efficient,” Felix said. “Also, I brought this.” He brandished the bottle.

Carver only got a glimpse of the label. “Vinegar?”

“Balsamic,” Felix corrected him. “Balsamic reduction, actually. Trust me.” He poured a little over the top of one bowl; whatever it was, it was thick and almost black. He scooped a biteful onto a spoon and handed it to Carver. “Try it.”

Dutifully, Carver ate it, his expectations low. “Maker, it’s delicious!” And it was -- tangy and sweet and pungent, transforming the whole thing from leftovers to something else altogether.

“You like it?” Felix looked pleased.

“I love it,” Carver said. 

Felix drizzled some over the second bowl and pushed it over to Carver. “It’s good with most berries, but especially strawberries.”

“I’ll have strawberries soon,” Carver noted. “I pinched back the blossoms a few weeks ago.”

“Oh!” Felix said, surprised. “I thought they were a spring fruit.”

“Can be,” Carver said, swallowing a mouthful of ice cream. “There’s June bearing, and they get one big crop. Then there’s everbearing and day neutral, and those give you summer and fall harvests. Not as many berries at once, but I figured people would appreciate the longer availability. Plus they don’t spread as much.” He realized he was babbling and looked up to find Felix smiling at him. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to go on.”

“No, I like hearing about it,” Felix said. “What else are you growing?”

Carver ran through his planting plan for the season, not quite trusting that Felix would find it interesting. But Felix asked lots of questions and he didn’t seem bored, so that was good, right? 

“You seem to enjoy it a great deal,” Felix said. “Farming, I mean.”

Scraping the bottom of his bowl, Carver shrugged. “I do.” It felt strange to admit. 

After a lull, Felix shifted in his seat, pushing his empty bowl aside. “That was delicious. I’m glad you suggested it.”

“I’m glad you thought of the ice cream. And the balsamic,” Carver added, taking the dishes to the sink. The shadows from the single bulb over the sink were stark; it felt much later than it actually was.

“Maybe we can try it again, once the strawberries ripen,” Felix said, leaning on the counter. 

“Yeah,” Carver said. There was a beat where they looked at each other, and then they closed the distance. They weren’t in public now. There was no chance they’d be interrupted. Felix clutched his hips, pulling him close, while Carver cupped his hands on Felix’s jaw and neck.

In next to no time, they were moving against each other again. Felix seemed less shy, his hand moving under Carver’s shirt. The fabric was getting in the way, so Carver pulled back and shucked the shirt over his shoulders, chucking it at the bed. Felix bit his lip, his cheeks flushing as he stared at Carver’s chest and arms. Carver was glad, at least, that the months on the farm had given his muscles some heft and definition. He might not have been as handsome as Garrett, but clearly Felix was okay with his biceps, seeing as he was sliding his hands over them with something like reverence.

Carver nuzzled his way to Felix’s ear. “Is this okay?” he whispered, toying with the buttons at Felix’s neckline.

He felt Felix nod, fast and shaky. “Yes,” he gasped. “Okay.”

Carver fumbled with the buttons until Felix’s shirt was undone. Underneath, Felix was soft, a hint of love handles at his waistline, the only hair a trail leading from his navel down. Carver was almost overwhelmed with need. It wasn’t like the generic fantasies that Carver had become accustomed to imagining; it was better. Felix was  _ right here, _ Carver could touch him, trace all the freckles and feel the soft heat of his skin. He wanted desperately to lick his way down Felix’s chest, tug the drawstring of his shorts loose and… Carver realized something was wrong. Felix was shaking.

“You okay?” Carver asked.

“Sorry I’m….” Felix exhaled with a tiny shake of his head. 

Carver wasn’t sure what he was getting at. “What’s the matter?” 

Felix frowned at Carver’s collarbone. “This probably isn’t what you’re used to. Sorry.”

“What I’m… used to?” Carver snorted. “Well if you mean, I’m not used to having gorgeous people kissing me, you’re right.”

“No, I… what?” Felix looked up. 

“Not that, you know, I’ve been kissing a lot of not-gorgeous people, either,” Carver admitted. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, god, no,” Felix said, swallowing hard. “You’re just so….” He smoothed his hands down Carver’s chest. “Sorry,” Felix said again, laughing a little, though there was no humor in it. 

“We don’t have to… do anything. If you don’t want.”

Felix has shut his eyes, but even still, he cringed. “It’s not… god, I want to --” He shook his head again. With a huff, he opened his eyes, and looked down at himself. “I guess I was hoping it would be darker.” He tried for a self-deprecating smile, but it didn’t take.

“What?” Carver struggled to make sense of the words.

“Nothing,” Felix whispered. The sensation of his breath on Carver’s ear was intensely arousing. For the third time that night, Carver’s cock began to twitch and thicken. Felix wasn’t shaking any longer. He started to mouth the crook of Carver’s neck tentatively, his hips shifting. 

“That feels amazing,” Carver sighed.

“Mmm?” Felix worked his way upward, the tip of his nose tracing Carver’s skin. It was the shyness of the motion as much as the sensation itself that had Carver breathing hard. 

When Felix’s lips brushed Carver’s ear, he groaned, knees buckling. “Oh fuck.”

Felix was breathing hard too, but he didn’t stop. Carver could feel the man’s cock sliding against his hip as Felix’s teeth closed gently on his earlobe.

“Oh  _ fuck.”  _ Carver’s hips rutted involuntarily. He was suddenly way too close, way too fast. “S-stop, we should -- fuck.” He gripped Felix’s shoulders.

At that, Felix started to laugh quietly. 

Carver realized what he’d said. “Maker, I didn’t mean --” He started to laugh too. 

Felix pulled away, still chuckling. “Maybe we should take things slow?”

“Does that mean you want to see me again?” Carver blurted. 

“I’d like that, yes.”

“Me too. And yes. Slow is, um, good.” Carver scratched at the crown of his scalp. “If that’s what you want.”

“Well what do  _ you _ want?” Felix asked, looking up at him. His pupils were wider than they should’ve been.

“I want….” Carver paused.  _ I want you to not realize what an idiot I am. I want to see what you look like when you sleep, and when you wake up, and when you fall apart. I want, I want….  _ He cleared his throat. “Do I lose points if I say I want you to be my boyfriend?”

Felix laughed, breathless. “No, I think that’s how you earn points. And I want that too.”

“Oh thank the Maker,” Carver said, sagging in relief. 

For a moment they just grinned at each other. They might’ve been hovering several inches above the floor; Carver couldn’t be certain. “Well,” Felix said finally. “It’s getting late. I should probably let you get some rest. I’m sure you have to be up at dawn.”

“Yeah,” Carver admitted. “Thereabouts. You want me to drive you back to town?”

“I can walk,” Felix said, doing up the buttons on his shirt. “It’ll do me good after all that ice cream.”

“Okay,” Carver said. 

Felix took a few steps towards the door. “Well, I’ll see you soon, then?”

“Definitely,” Carver nodded. “Text me when you get home?”

Felix nodded, his hand on the doorknob. “Of course.”

“Wait,” Carver said. He grabbed the bottle of balsamic. “Don’t forget this.”

“Keep it. For when the strawberries are ripe,” Felix grinned, then let himself out. 

For a second, Carver just stood there, not sure what to think. He was in a relationship. He tried the thought on for size:  _ Felix is my boyfriend. _ Felix -- gorgeous, brilliant, funny, kind  _ Felix _ \-- was Carver Hawke’s _ boyfriend.  _

Mouth hanging open a little, Carver looked at Lady, who had curled up in her bed. “I have a boyfriend,” he said out loud. The dog perked up. “Lady,  **_I_ ** have a boyfriend.  _ Me.  _ What do you think of that, hey?”

There was a knock at the door, which opened. Felix popped his head in. “Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. “I forgot the flashlight.” He pointed at the device sitting on Carver’s table. It wasn’t entirely clear if he’d heard Carver or not, but with the windows open, it seemed likely.

Carver felt his face erupt into flames. He was caught exactly between wanting to die -- no, he wanted to never have existed at all -- and the euphoria which hadn’t quite worn off. “Right, yeah. Can’t forget that. Dark and all.” He swiped the flashlight from the table and handed it over. 

“Well, I’ll just be going, then,” Felix said, biting his lip.

“You heard me, didn’t you?” Carver hung his head. 

Felix nodded hesitantly. “If it makes you feel better, I already texted Dorian basically the same thing. From your front porch.”

Carver started to laugh. In his pocket, his own phone buzzed. “Garrett, I’m sure.”

“Probably,” Felix nodded, losing control of the grin he’d been suppressing. “Anyway. Thanks.” He held up the flashlight.

“Yeah.” Carver nodded too, and Felix slipped back out into the night. 

Later, Carver would kick himself for not going in for another kiss. For now, though, he waited until he heard the sound of Felix’s footsteps on the porch steps, then crunching down the gravel path. Then he turned back to the dog. “I’ve got a boyfriend, I’ve got a boyfriend,” he sang.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I dunno who told Carver not to say all the things he's thinking because he totally should.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver takes Felix. Out to dinner, of course. WINK WINK.

“So, Varric. What’s the deal with the boarded-up building in the park?” Carver hefted the last empty crate into the back of his truck. The market had been very good to him today; he’d sold out of almost everything. 

The mayor was tacking up a notice to the bulletin board nearby. “Ah yes. The old community center. My greatest failure. Thanks for bringing it up, Junior.”

By now Carver could recognize Varric’s sarcasm and match it. “I live to please.”

Varric finished what he was doing and came over. He leaned on the side of the truck, scratching one ear absently. “We used to do everything there. It was the heart of the town. Food pantry, community kitchen, preschool, teen lounge, dances, weddings, emergency shelter… you name it.” He shook his head. “Plus it was actually nice in there, you know? It was a converted church. All original hardwood floors, big stone fireplace, bright and cheery. It was great.”

“What happened?” 

Varric shrugged. “Couple things. First off, the megamart went in just outside village limits. Sales tax revenues took a nose dive, so there was less in the budget for programs and upkeep. Then there was a bad storm, which damaged the roof, which then leaked, which led to mold. And when we went to fix the mold, we found asbestos. We only had enough money to gut the place, not enough to rebuild. I applied for revitalization grants ten years in a row, but I guess the governor’s got a different set of priorities.” He blew air out his lips. “It’s been so long, I’m not sure anyone cares any more, aside from me.”

Carver had never seen Varric look anything but upbeat. “Damn, I’m sorry. If there’s anything I can do, let me know. My brother works as a consultant for grants and stuff -- do you want me to mention it to him?”

“Can’t hurt. Thanks, Junior.” Varric gave an appreciative nod, though he didn’t sound very hopeful. “Who knows? Maybe money will fall from the sky or something.”

Well that certainly would be helpful, Carver thought. He clambered into the cab of the truck and headed for home. Though he really shouldn’t complain about money. He was doing well, actually. Thanks to the meticulous notes his grandfather wrote, there was a lot less guesswork involved than he’d anticipated. As a result, he actually had more money in the bank now than when he’d arrived.

Not that he was anything close to comfortable. Carver was well aware that one bad patch of weather would wipe him out, so he saved almost everything he earned. Once he built his savings up and got an irrigation system, he could think about maybe making some improvements to the cabin. It would be nice to have a proper stove, and a real washing machine and dryer. Maybe he could even insulate the place, turn the attic into a loft bedroom….

The thought of rolling around in a huge bed in said loft with Felix distracted him the whole way home. He shook himself out of it. All that was a long way off. Tonight, he was going to take some of his hard-earned money and take Felix out for dinner. Granted, it was only at the Stardrop, but still.

Carver hadn’t managed to see Felix much since their date, though they’d texted every day. He nearly always went to bed before Felix, so Carver would often wake up to a message Felix had sent the night before. He’d taken to sending a reply early in the morning, so that Felix would also have something to wake up to. God, it was so corny. There was no way Carver was going to stop though. 

It was kind of weird, picking Felix up to go to dinner when he lived practically across the street from the Stardrop. Still, Carver fidgeted on the doorstep, tugging his shirt straight one last time before ringing the doorbell. 

Felix opened the door with a smile, which faded into shock when he saw the bundle of wildflowers Carver was holding. “Oh my god, you got me  _ flowers?”  _ His voice went up half an octave.

The knot of tension in Carver’s stomach relaxed; he hadn’t been sure Felix would appreciate the spindly, imperfect daisies he'd picked. “Er, hope you don’t get hayfever.” 

Felix stared at the bouquet for another moment, mouth hanging open. “I don’t. And I love them,” he said finally. “Come in, let me put them in water.” 

Carver followed Felix inside. Unlike last time, there was enough ambient light that he could see more of the apartment. It was neat and cheery for the most part; though the clutter on the dining room table told another story.

“Working on a project?” Carver nodded toward the doorway.

Panic flashed across Felix’s face. “Oh. That. It's nothing. Just, um, a hobby.” He fussed with the flowers, not meeting Carver’s eye. “I meant to clean it up, but then I got distracted. I… build model airplanes. Stupid, I know. Childish. Should’ve given it up years ago.”

“Ohhh.” Carver suddenly remembered that time he’d watched Felix painting something though the window -- must’ve been a model. Given how uncomfortable Felix obviously was, Carver decided to avoid mentioning that. The ensuing pause was too long, Carver realized belatedly. “It’s not childish,” he insisted.

Felix didn’t look convinced, his smile tight. “That’s kind of you to say.”

Carver wanted to kick himself.  _ Fix this, you idiot.  _ “Can I see what you’re working on?”

“You sure?” Felix crinkled his nose, not quite believing it.

“Yeah, we’ve got time. It’s not like Oghren takes reservations,” Carver pointed out.

Felix steeled himself with a deep inhale and nodded. “Sure.” He led Carver into the other room and flicked on the light. “Well, here it is, my colossal waste of time.”

The inside wall was lined with shelves, upon which dozens of airplane models were displayed.  “It’s not a waste of time,” Carver said. “They’re amazing.” He wasn't lying -- the models on the shelves were exquisitely detailed. He turned to the table. Whatever Felix was working on, it was still in pieces, each laid carefully out on newspaper. He leaned in closer. “God, you even made it so the wheels have dirt on them. What’s it going to be?”

“RAF SE5-a,” Felix said automatically. “Um, it’s a biplane.”

“Like the one in the last Indiana Jones movie?”

“Mmm, sort of. That one was a Stampe. They came about twenty years later.” Felix scratched the back of his head and shifted his weight. 

Carver could tell he was uncomfortable, but he didn’t know what to do about it. “Do you have one of those too?” He looked back at the shelves.

“I… do,” Felix hedged. “You really don’t have to pretend to be interested.”

“Hey,” Carver said. “Look. I’m not pretending, okay? I mean this is incredible, god, it’s so much work. You want to talk hobbies that are a waste of time, ask me about how many thousands of hours of video games I played before I moved here.  I don’t even have anything to show for it,” Carver noted, peering at a fighter jet. “The pilot has little sunglasses? These are unbelievable.”

Felix took a step closer, the motion hesitant. Maybe he thought Carver was just humoring him? Carver knew how that felt, but again, he had no idea how to make it better. His stomach growled loudly, and some of the tension dissipated as they both laughed. 

“We should probably go,” Felix said, turning towards the door.

“In a minute.” Carver caught Felix’s arm. “It’s just… I think you’re….” Carver huffed in frustration, unable to put it into words. It was just so difficult to say things like  _ I think you’re amazing and wonderful _ . So he kissed Felix instead. It worked in the movies, right?

It was hard to know if it made Felix feel any better, but he whimpered when Carver slid his hand to the nape of his neck. That, in turn, sent a rush of blood to Carver’s dick, and he groaned a little. It was just starting to get heated when Carver’s stomach complained again. They broke it off, laughing with their foreheads pressed together. “Sorry,” Carver whispered. 

“Don’t be,” Felix said, drawing back. “It  _ is _ dinner time, after all.”

A few minutes later, they were settling into a booth at the restaurant. Any hope that no one would notice them getting dinner was dashed immediately. It was Saturday night, so the place was busy. Alistair was dining with his wife; he gave a friendly wave, which was fine. Sera and Dagna were eating too, though they were too wrapped up in their own conversation to notice anything. But across the bar, Anders and Isabela immediately began to giggle and whisper, throwing weaponized smirks their way.

Well, they’d just have to get used to it, Carver thought. Not like it was any secret that he and Felix were dating. 

“Hello, gents,” Oghren said, setting some menus and a basket of rolls in front of them. “Choucroute special tonight, and the fish of the day is salmon. Drinks?”

Carver leaned over to peer at the taps. “You still have the lager?”

Oghren nodded. “Sure do. And for the doctor? I’ve got a pinot gris you might like.”

“Er, I think I’ll take an iced tea,” Felix mumbled. “Unsweetened.”

“You got it.” He left them to the menus and bustled off.

“So… hypothetically speaking, if one wanted to know what choucroute was without sounding stupid….” Carver hedged.

Felix chuckled. “It’s sausage and pork, sometimes ham, braised with sauerkraut and potatoes. Comes from the Anderfels.”

“Well that makes it easy,” Carver said, setting the menu down. “That sounds amazing. I’m so hungry I could eat a horse.”

“You must burn a lot of calories on the farm,” Felix said, glancing at his biceps.

“I guess?” Carver shrugged. “More than my old desk job, anyway.”

Oghren returned with the drinks. “And what can I get you?” He looked at Carver, poised to write the order on a pad.

“I’ll have the special.”

“That’s my boy. And you?” Oghren asked Felix.

“Er, I’ll have the salmon. Grilled. With green beans.”

Oghren paused, his pencil not moving. “Not your usual?”

Felix flushed. “Um. Not tonight.” He handed the menu over.

Oghren shrugged. “Salmon and green beans it is then.” 

As he walked away, Carver took a sip of his beer. “What’s your usual?”

“Oh, er. Fettucine alfredo.” Felix squeezed the slice of lemon into his tea. He seemed uncomfortable again.

Carver tried not to frown. Maybe Felix hadn’t ordered it because it was expensive? That would make sense. He must know Carver wasn’t rolling in money. God, that was kind of sad, wasn’t it, that Carver couldn’t even take Felix on a proper date without it seeming like a charity case. 

An awkward pause settled around them. Carver couldn’t escape the feeling that he’d messed up somehow. He must’ve done, right? Why else would Felix be so on edge? “So,” he said finally.

“So,” Felix agreed. “How was your week?”

“Good. Could do with a rainy day. You?”

“Fine,” Felix said. “It’s very slow this time of year. Which is a good problem to have, I suppose.”

“Mm,” Carver nodded. 

Oghren came by with their salads, relieving the need to speak for a few moments. Carver doused his with dressing as he usually did, scraping every bit of the ranch from the little cup. Felix, however, dribbled the barest few drops of vinaigrette on his plate. Carver felt horribly uncouth in comparison. God, he was such an oaf. 

“I hear Garrett will be coming to visit soon,” Felix said politely.

“Yeah,” Carver grumbled. “At least he won’t be underfoot this time -- staying with Dorian and Cullen. The cabin’s not ideal for guests.” 

“It  _ is _ tiny,” Felix noted. “Though I’ve had apartments that were smaller. I had a place in Minrathous where I could touch opposite walls at the same time.” He grinned, remembering. “What a shithole that was. Didn’t have roaches though, that’s something.”

“I’ve heard it’s expensive,” Carver said. “I’ve never been.”

“Oh, it’s a beautiful city. The bridges, the gates, the spires… not that I actually saw any of those things while I was going to school, mind. Mostly I saw the hospital and my apartment.” 

“That’s so amazing though,” Carver said. “I’ve never lived anywhere bigger than Kirkwall.” He poked at the gloppy mess of salad. 

“Not one for travel?” 

Carver shrugged. “Dunno. I thought about it when I was in college, but I never got around to it.” He laughed, a bitter chuckle. “Never got around to a lot of things.”

“Well. I know that feeling,” Felix said, pushing his plate to the side. 

Another lull. The rising panic was getting harder to ignore. God, it was like the dogsitting thing all over again. Carver was boring the life out of Felix, he must be. They got along so well over text, but in person it was awkward. The picnic had been fine though, right? Of course, they spent most of the time making out. This wasn’t good. Surely, Felix would get fed up with Carver being so dull sooner rather than later.

Abruptly, Carver got to his feet. “Uh, just need to, um, use the....” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder towards the hallway to the restrooms.

“Oh, right,” Felix nodded.

Carver didn’t go into the bathroom, though. He ducked into the storage closet instead and pulled out his phone. There was no time to text. He dialed his brother. “Come on, come on, pick up.”

After three rings, Garrett answered the call. “What the hell are you doing? I thought you were on a date?”

“I am. I told him I went to the bathroom. It’s going terrible. God, Garrett, I’m boring the man out of his mind, what do I do?”

“Andraste’s fucking tits, have you never been on a date in your life?” Garrett sounded like he found the whole thing amusing, which just added a sheen of anger to Carver’s hopelessness.

“Augh, I never should’ve thought you would help. Good bye.” Carver heard Garrett squawk a protest, so he brought the phone back up to his ear.

“Look, I want to help, I really do, but I can’t talk  _ for _ you,” Garrett pointed out. His voice was spotty -- he must’ve been getting a text. “Hang on a sec.” 

Carver heard his brother pull the phone away, then start to laugh. A second later he was back on the line. “He’s not bored, he’s  _ nervous,”  _ Garrett explained. “He’s texting Dorian right now. God, you’re both so pathetic it’s almost cute.”

“Nervous? What the hell for?” Carver couldn’t wrap his brain around that. Felix had always seemed comfortable around him when they weren’t on dates. It was one of the things Carver found so attractive.

“He’s nervous because he’s on a date with a, quote, younger, hotter, braver man than he- hang on, is he on a date with someone else at the same time?”

“Shut up,” Carver grumbled. “And don’t you dare tell Dorian I called you, or I’ll tell him about the time you wadded up a bunch of toilet paper, stuck it between your butt cheeks, and pretended to be the Easter Bunny.”

“I was four,” Garrett sniffed. “How did you find out about that, anyway?”

“Uncle Gamlen told me.”

“That bastard,” Garrett grumbled. “Anyway no need for threats. I won’t tell, out of the goodness of my heart, because I love my widdy-biddy baby bro.”

“Ugh.” Carver hung up without thanking him.

He went back into the dining area as Felix hurriedly stowed his own phone. “Oghren says the food will be by in a minute.”

“Oh great.” Carver nodded and scooched back into the booth. His brain was going a mile a minute. For the time being, he’d triaged his utter disbelief that he could possibly make Felix nervous. He’d worry about that later. For now, Carver just wanted to see if he could fix it, somehow. 

Before he got the chance, their food arrived. “Alright, we got your special, and your salmon.” Oghren’s gravelly voice cut into his preoccupation as plates were set in front of them. “Anything else I can get you lads? Doc, you want another tea?” He pointed at the nearly empty glass.

“Yes, thanks,” Felix said. 

“Coming up.”

Carver’s dinner was enormous and smelled amazing. He cut a chunk of kielbasa and slathered it with mustard, then popped it in his mouth. “Oh my god this is good.” 

“It looks it,” Felix smiled, taking a rather more delicate bite of salmon. He thanked Oghren as his drink was delivered in passing, carefully cutting his green beans.

Something clunked into place in Carver’s brain. The thing Felix had said last week about it wanting to be darker, about wanting to walk off the ice cream, the way he ordered plain fish and veggies, the fact that he was nervous: Felix was… god, was he embarrassed by his  _ body _ ? 

He watched as Felix fiddled with the straw in his iced tea, trying to break up a clump of ice. It didn’t seem possible that Felix would be self-conscious about his looks. Yeah, he had a little bit of a tummy, but so what? It was cute. The only reason Carver had muscles and abs was because he was working on the farm; he’d been plenty fluffy back when he was working in an office all day. Plus, none of that mattered in the least, because Felix was just so adorable. 

Felix looked up. “What?”

Fuck, did Carver say that out loud? “Um. I just… you look amazing tonight.” Wait, did that make it sound like sometimes he  _ didn’t  _ look amazing? Carver cleared his throat and wiped at a bit of condensation on his pint glass. “I mean, you always do, so. Ah. Pointing out the obvious, I guess.” God, why was saying this stuff so difficult? He chanced a glance at Felix.

The doctor’s eyes were wide and his mouth hung open. Carver had a sudden thought that maybe Felix would look like that in bed, and he shifted in his seat as his dick decided to ponder the matter further.

“Are you sure you don’t need glasses?” Felix said finally, with a little laugh. He fiddled with the wrapper to his straw, tying it in knots.

Licking his lips, Carver slid his foot under the table till it nudged Felix’s shoe, making him look up. “I’m sure,” Carver said. “Really sure.”

They stared at each other. In the corner, Isabela was at the jukebox. Music started up, some slow torch burner. At first, Carver didn’t think he knew the song, but then the lyrics started:  _ The very thought of you… and I forget to do… the little ordinary things that everyone ought to do….  _

Carver ripped his gaze away towards the bar, blinking in surprise. Isabela was dancing, if you could call it that, with Anders. They were swaying in a slow circle, but both of their attention was on Fenris, teasing him mercilessly with jokes as he scowled at them from his barstool. 

“I know this song,” Carver blurted, turning back to Felix.

“Do you like Elvis Costello? It’s one of my favorites.”

“I --” Carver cut himself off.  _ Well, in for a penny. _ “I know. I, um, have a confession. I, well, this is going to sound creepy. It is. I should shut up.” He shook his head and drained his beer. 

“What?” Felix urged, laughing. “Tell me.”

“I, uh, I mean, I was just walking past your place one night, um, the night we met actually. I was a little tipsy. And you were making something and singing -- this song -- and I just stopped for a minute to see what you were doing through the window. God, I’m so sorry, that was terrible of me, wasn’t it? It was. It totally was. I’m sorry.” Carver winced, then peeked an eye open.

Felix began to laugh. “You  _ spied  _ on me?” 

“No, well. Not. Exactly. Maybe. Yes?” 

Oghren was walking by. Felix caught his elbow. “Sorry, I changed my mind on the wine.”

“You got it. Carv?” Oghren made a finger-gun at his empty pint.

“God yes,” Carver nodded.

“You spied on me,” Felix said again once they were alone. He didn’t sound angry, just disbelieving.

“Er. I mean. Yeah. God, I’m so sorry. I mean I wouldn’t have if you’d been, like naked or anything, not that I don’t  _ want _ to see you naked, wow,  _ so _ badly -- I’ve just made this a thousand times worse, haven’t I?” Carver hurriedly shoveled a mouthful of potato into his face to stop himself talking.

“Well I mean I can’t exactly condone being a peeping tom,” Felix said, tilting his head. He paused and thanked Oghren as their drinks were delivered. “I just… can’t believe there was anything interesting enough for someone like you to stop and watch.”

“What do you mean, someone like me?”

“I mean….” Felix chewed his lip. He glanced out at the restaurant. Bull had showed up with Krem at some point, and Isabela had her arm around the shoulders of that blond guy that Carver didn’t know very well -- Zevran, his name was. “There’s so many prettier things to look at.”

“What? Are you kidding? Felix, you’re so beautiful I forget what words mean half the time,” Carver blurted. “I stared at you like an idiot the first time I saw you. I couldn’t help myself.”

Felix blinked in shock. “I thought… I thought you were looking at your reflection in the window,” he said. “I didn’t think you could see me.”

“Oh my god,” Carver said, leaning back and running his hands through his hair. “We are  _ so _ pathetic.”

Felix started laughing. “We are.”

After that, it was easier. It was still tense, sure. But the good kind of tension, like the night they had first kissed, the tension that comes from the anticipation of what was coming later, when they were alone again. Well, hopefully. Carver was trying not to get ahead of himself. Partly because it was the right thing to do, but also because whenever he started to think about it he got distracted and aroused.

Oghren cleared their plates finally, after Carver had scraped his clean and eaten all the rolls in the basket. “And what are we thinking for dessert?” Oghren asked.

“Oh, none for me,” Felix said.

“No fettucine, no tiramisu… I’d ask if you’re feeling ok if you weren’t the doctor,” Oghren tutted. “How ‘bout you, Carv? Got one slice of cheesecake left….” 

Carver could  _ definitely  _ have gone for cheesecake, under other circumstances. He might not have been good at dating, but he did know it was a bad idea to eat too much before the prospect of anything intimate. “Ooh, no, I’m stuffed,” he lied, patting his stomach. 

Oghren shrugged. “Bring this to the bar when you’re ready,” he said, giving the bill to Carver.

Carver flipped it over; it was about half of what he expected. “Wait, my meal is missing,” he said.

“Not gonna charge you for your own sauerkraut, boy,” Oghren scoffed and stumped away, shaking his head.

“Oh,” Carver said. “Uh, thanks, I guess.”

“Well that was nice,” Felix smiled. 

“Yeah,” Carver nodded absently. He felt funny about getting a free meal in front of Felix; half the reason Carver had suggested dinner was to show that he was a capable adult, not some poverty-stricken deadbeat that grew vegetables. 

“Do you want to stay for another drink?” Felix said. He was squirming a little, like he was chomping at the bit to leave. It was strangely hot.

Carver stopped worrying about the bill. “Not really. You?”

“Not at all,” Felix said, the words rushing out in a breathless tumble. 

Carver strode up to pay the tab. Felix hovered behind him, making small talk with Isabela. Carver wasn’t quite sure what they were saying, but Isabela leaned in close to whisper, which was probably a bad sign. Or a good one, since Felix flushed and laughed. 

Outside, they walked back to Felix’s door. Carver felt jittery all over, like he’d had too much coffee. 

“Would you like to come in?” Felix asked, unlocking the door.

“Yeah, I mean -- if you want,” Carver said. 

“I’d like that,” Felix answered. 

They went inside. “So,” Carver said, trying to think of what to say.

“So.” In the foyer, Felix reached behind Carver to shut the outside light off. Somehow, suddenly, they were kissing, and not like the sweet aching kisses from before. This was… god, it was hot, both of them frantic and needy and panting, Felix clutching Carver closer, fumbling with a doorknob that opened into a bedroom. 

They needed to talk about things, Carver knew that. Boundaries and limits and comfort levels. It was important. They were taking it slow. Any second now he was going to pull away and say something. Any second now.

Felix reached down and ran his hand along Carver’s cock through his pants, and the moan Felix gave was like  _ he  _ was the one being touched. 

Carver hissed, letting his head fall back. Felix began to kiss the exposed skin of his neck, still whimpering and moving against him. “Fuck, that feels so good,” Carver whispered. “Let me --” He reached down to palm Felix.

Felix gasped and came up on his tiptoes, his teeth raking Carver’s skin. “Do you -- nnnngh.” The question devolved into a whimper. 

Carver forced himself to stop for a second, though Felix continued to lave his neck. “We should slow down.”

With a nod, Felix pulled away. “Yes, sorry. God. Sorry.” 

“I just -- don’t want to push you,” Carver said. 

Breathing carefully, Felix nodded. He ran a hand down Carver’s chest. “Right. Right.” He bit his lip, looking up at Carver through his lashes, half his face in shadow. “What if -- I want to be pushed?” His voice was barely audible, a whisper of a whisper.

“Oh god,” Carver groaned. This was doing absolutely zero for his self-control. 

“Is… that alright?” Felix asked, doubt creeping into his expression.

“Yes, fuck yes,” Carver swore, kissing Felix until the man moaned. “Anything you want,” he said, too far out of his mind with lust to realize that was a stupid thing to promise.

Felix backed up until his calves hit the mattress, and he stumbled, toppling onto the bed. It didn’t seem like it was on purpose. 

“Are you okay?” Carver asked, leaning over him.

“Just dizzy,” Felix nodded. 

“Should we stop?”  _ God, I hope not.  _

Felix huffed and shook his head. “I can’t fall down from here,” he laughed.

“True.” Carver leaned up and shucked his shirt, not bothering to unbutton it. Felix’s fingers went to his own buttons, but Carver stopped him. “Let me? Please?”

With a shaky nod, Felix allowed it. Carver took his time, like he’d wanted to the other night, kissing every bit of skin as it was exposed. Felix was hot, his soft skin velvety smooth, smelling faintly of spice and musk. Carver got distracted by Felix’s nipples, swirling his tongue around one while he thumbed the other, then switching, and switching back again, until Felix was writhing under him. Carver moved on, undoing the next few buttons, then lavished the same attention on Felix’s navel and stomach.

Carver could feel the tension in the muscles under his tummy, the way Felix shook. God, it hurt to know that he was self-conscious, when he was so fucking gorgeous. Carver ran his hand over Felix’s shaft, up and back, nipping at the skin around Felix’s navel until the trembling stopped and he was breathing hard. 

Carver’s own erection was aching, but with the angle, there was nothing he could rut against to relieve the pressure. So he ignored it, instead getting Felix’s belt undone and his fly open. “Is this okay?” Carver asked, mouthing Felix through the fabric of his boxers.

“Yes,” came the answer. So Carver kept at it, nosing the opening of the fly, nudging the fabric aside to expose just a little skin. He couldn’t help but groan when his tongue met that bit of flesh. 

“Oh god,” Felix said then, clutching Carver’s shoulder.

Carver jerked away. “Sorry,” he said immediately.

“No, it’s just… unless you want things to be over right away,” Felix said. 

“Ah,” Carver said. “Gotcha.” It was as good a time as any to rearrange themselves and get rid of the extra clothes. Felix scooted back on the bed so he could lay properly, shedding his boxers and socks in the process. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, moving them restlessly.

Carver stripped as well. He went to lay next to Felix, but the man grabbed his shoulders, guiding him to lay on top, between Felix’s legs.

“Is this okay?” Felix asked.

Carver nodded, already leaning down to kiss him again. It wasn’t much in the way of a kiss, more like a shared moan; the body contact was too much for both of them, Carver already rutting his hips, the drag of hot skin and hair almost painful against his cock, but he couldn’t help himself. 

Felix fumbled at the night stand, yanking the drawer open. A second later he pressed a bottle of lube into Carver’s hands, going back to the drawer until Carver heard the telltale crinkle of a condom wrapper. 

This was so much faster than Carver thought things would go. He was not complaining, however. How could he, with the way Felix arched, his voice breaking, when Carver pressed a fingertip at his entrance? It had been a long time since Carver had been with anyone, but it had been a  _ very  _ long time since he’d been with someone this enthusiastic. 

Felix ground down on his fingers, wincing through his eagerness. “God that’s so good,” he murmured, eyes shut. 

It was all Carver could do to hold on, just  _ watching  _ Felix. He was already leaking, a dribble that pooled on the groove of Felix’s thigh. He focused on his breathing, slowly pressing in a second finger.

Felix was nodding, fast and shaky, and a second later his eyes flew open along with his mouth, his lips working silently. He gasped, finally, looking at Carver with something like panic.

“Okay?” Carver asked.

“Y-yes, yes,  _ please --”  _ It was almost a sob, as Carver’s fingers found his prostate again. He clutched Carver’s shoulders as a third finger was folded in.

Hearing the plea almost broke Carver’s heart. God, Felix shouldn’t be the one begging, that should be Carver, just to be here at all -- the thought was interrupted when Felix gripped Carver’s wrist. “I’m good, I’m good,  _ please.” _

Carver’s hands shook as he ripped into the condom packet. Thank god for the prophylactic; he was sure he’d last less than a minute otherwise. He lined himself up. “Are you ready?”

Felix made a needy sound of assent. It turned into a whine as Carver pressed into him. He was very tight, clearly not as ready as he’d said; Carver tried to pull away but Felix wrapped a foot around his lower back. “No,” he gasped, eyes shut again. “Just need… a second.”

It was almost painful, how tight Felix was. Carver kissed him, slow as he could manage, rocking almost imperceptibly as Felix relaxed. And then Felix was kissing him back, and matching the movement with his own hips. It was so gradual, the descent to deeper strokes, until Carver bottomed out with a groan. 

It was slow. Like ocean waves at night, lapping the underside of the docks. Carver realized that Felix had slicked up his own cock at some point; it was sliding along Carver’s stomach with every thrust. At the trough of every stroke, they made a sound, Carver a grunt and Felix a whimper. 

“Please,” Felix said finally. “Harder?”

“Oh fuck,” Carver winced. He drew back and thrust, hard.

Felix howled, eyes flying open, panicky again. “Harder. Please?” He slipped a hand between them and began to stroke his own cock. 

“God,” Carver said. He put a hand to the side of Felix’s face. “Anything. Anything. God, you’re so beautiful, I’ll give you anything you want Felix, anything,” he babbled. 

Felix’s breath was shaky and shallow. “Hard. Now.” His eyes opened even wider. “Now -- oh!”

Carver pounded into him, feeling Felix clench on his cock, a spurt of warmth between them. He continued to thrust as his own orgasm built, gentler, shallower motions until he finally came, grinding against Felix as the last few twitches resided.

After a moment that was not nearly long enough, Carver carefully pulled out. Felix was still holding on to him though, so he didn’t feel rushed to get up just yet. 

Still, gravity, blood flow, and friction coefficients being what they were, a minute or so later Carver was in danger of making an enormous mess. “I should clean up,” he murmured into Felix’s neck. 

“Mmm.” It sounded like Felix disagreed, but he let go of Carver. “Bathroom is through there,” he pointed.

Carver shakily got to his feet. The bathroom light seemed very bright; he squinted against it as he cleaned up and took a piss. There was a stack of folded hand cloths in a basket; Carver dampened one with warm water and grabbed a dry one as well. 

He handed both to Felix, who lay blissed out on the bed. Carver wasn’t sure what to expect, so he decided to follow Felix’s lead. He sat on the edge of the mattress, giving Felix a second to clean up, before they both scooted under the blankets. It had been a warm day, but the night was cool enough that laying sweaty and uncovered just felt clammy. 

Tentatively, Felix reached for him, so Carver rolled to his side to let an arm sprawl over Felix’s chest. For a long moment, they didn’t say anything. “Thank you,” Felix whispered finally.

Carver snorted. “I’m pretty sure I’m the one that should be thanking  _ you,”  _ he insisted, burying his face in the crook of Felix’s neck. “That was….” Carver sighed helplessly. “Incredible.”

Beside him, Felix sighed too, and it sounded relieved, which made something in Carver’s chest ache again. “I’m glad. I thought so too.”

Carver pulled him a little closer, wondering what had happened to Felix that made him so unaware of just how amazing he was. It felt good, holding him like this; not as good as the sex, but a close second. 

“You probably have to go, don’t you,” Felix said. 

“If you want,” Carver offered. He most assuredly did  _ not _ want that. He desperately wanted not just to sleep, but to sleep  _ with Felix. _

“Not especially. I just -- well, I figured you had to get back to Lady.”

“She’s fine for a bit. Aveline installed a doggy door,” Carver explained. “She can go out if she needs to.”

Felix laughed. “What, really? Where did you find a doggy door big enough for a mabari mix?”

“Mmm, it’s not. She put the whole bottom panel of the door on hinges,” Carver yawned. “As long as I’m there to feed her tomorrow she’ll be fine.” He was rapidly losing the wherewithal to leave voluntarily, not with Felix curled up underneath him. 

“Stay, then?” Felix whispered, rubbing a hand over Carver’s arm.

“Love to,” Carver murmured, nuzzling at Felix. Carver had already begun to doze when Felix slipped out from under his arm, whispering about needing the bathroom. He nodded and made himself comfortable, drifting in a semi-liminal state until Felix came back a few moments later. He pressed a lazy kiss to Felix’s shoulder and allowed himself to fall asleep.

Except something prodded him back to awareness, slowly and painfully. Something wasn’t right. Next to him, Felix kept fidgeting, and… sniffling?

That got Carver to force his eyes open. “You okay?” 

“Fine,” Felix said, tensing up. “Sorry. Go to sleep.”

“No, what is it?” Carver pushed himself up on one elbow. There was enough ambient light that Carver could see the wetness in Felix’s eyes. “God, are you… what’s the matter?”

Felix hurriedly wiped his face and laughed, the sound crooked and broken. “Sorry. God, I’m so sorry, look at me. So pathetic,” he said, trying to make it sound funny.

“Hey, shush, none of that,” Carver murmured. “Did I do something wrong?”

More laughter, this time with a hysterical edge. “No. No, it’s me, I’m just… it’s… been a long time.” Felix took a shuddering breath and let it out slow. “It’s just an overabundance of prolactin in my system,” he said, clinically rattling off the diagnosis, though who he was trying to convince was unclear. “I’ll be fine in a few minutes.”

Carver had never experienced post-sex letdown, but he knew it existed. He wasn’t sure what would help, so he took a shot in the dark. Slowly, he gathered Felix into his arms. “Is this okay?”

With a sharp inhale, Felix nodded. “Surprised you’re not running into the night by now,” he huffed.

Carver wasn’t sure if that was a joke or what. “Wasn’t planning on it.” He ran his thumb along Felix’s hairline, wondering if he should ask. The growing sense of unease in his stomach finally forced the words out. “How long has it been?”

The pause was heavy and thick, like a fog. “Four years,” Felix whispered finally.

Carver winced, unconsciously curling tighter around Felix. “You shouldn’t have let me be so rough,” he said. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” Felix sighed at the body contact, and he seemed to relax a little. “No need to worry about that. And I asked for that, anyway.”

Suddenly Carver felt stupid; just because it’d been a while didn’t mean Felix didn’t have toys or things. The idea of Felix pleasuring himself with a dildo was enough to make Carver’s dick twitch with fruitless interest.

From the quiet but sharp inhale Felix gave, the reaction didn’t go unnoticed. 

“Sorry,” Carver mumbled.

“It’s fine,” Felix whispered.

There was a lull. Carver was more awake than a few minutes ago, but fatigue pulled at him. Still, it didn’t seem right to just conk out when Felix seemed so upset. “Been a while for me too,” he offered. 

“Really?” Felix frowned in surprise. 

“Well, I mean I’ve done  _ stuff,”  _ Carver said. “But not, uh,  _ that. _ In a while.”

“Ah,” Felix said, and his voice was weird, in a way that was hard to identify but made Carver’s stomach swoop. Kind of hopeless and resigned at the same time. 

“You sure it was alright?” Carver blurted, pushing up to look at Felix again. “For you? I wasn’t expecting that we’d… this is faster than I thought it would go.” Carver lay back down, forcing himself to shut up before he made things worse.

“God, no, it was fantastic,” Felix said. “I guess I’m just… glad you thought so too.”

Carver’s dick decided to weigh in with another lurch. He tried to cover it by squirming against Felix. “Are you kidding? It was amazing.  _ You _ were amazing.” 

“Maker, so are you,” Felix whispered, shifting against him. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I can’t, either,” Carver admitted. “You sure you want me to stay?”

He felt Felix nod, the gesture slipping into something more like a nuzzle, Felix’s nose and lips moving against Carver’s hair. 

“Oh good,” Carver mumbled as he fell asleep, this time for good.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my world, jukeboxes are loaded with the entire Elvis Costello discography, including [this fabulous cover of The Very Thought of You.](https://youtu.be/dUvDyu4lp6s)
> 
> Also, for those of you NOT playing along at home, the model plane thing comes from Stardew Valley. Harvey's obsessed. :D


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talking is hard, but some things are easy.

As easy as it was to stay with Felix for the night, it was that much harder for Carver to leave the next morning.  _ Waking _ was easy -- hell, he’d woken up a half dozen times during the night. Carver had gotten used to sleeping in the cabin, with the night sounds and darkness of the forest. Felix’s bedroom was somehow  _ too  _ quiet, and the light from the clock radio seemed impossibly bright. Bright enough that every time he awoke, he could see Felix’s face, gentle in slumber, and wonder how he’d gotten so lucky. 

Had it been like this, before? Carver didn’t remember. He’d certainly never laid awake watching his last ex while she slept. Mostly he remembered Anora jabbing him awake for snoring or stealing the blankets, as if Carver was doing those things on purpose to piss her off. God, that was what, a year and a half ago, almost two? Seemed like a lifetime. A lifetime and maybe a completely different universe. Anora had been beautiful, but she didn’t actually seem to like Carver very much. He’d been surprised when she approached him, and even more surprised when she decided they were dating. It wasn’t until she dumped him that Carver realized he never liked her much, either. 

Certainly not as much as he liked Felix. God, he was just so beautiful, even sleeping. And kind, and funny, and elegant, and smart. Carver was exhausted, but he found himself hanging on to wakefulness, just to catch a few more seconds of awareness.

Carver awoke for the last time just before six. As it was his normal time to get up, he wiped the grit from his eyes. Plus he had to pee. He slid from the bed and made his way to the bathroom. Was it rude to shower? There were two clean towels on the rack, but sometimes people had special towels that you weren’t supposed to use. 

They didn’t look fancy though -- no monograms or anything -- so Carver shrugged and turned on the water. He didn’t linger, just gave himself a quick wash. He was bound to get plenty sweaty later, anyway. Life on the farm meant two showers a day; the ones in the morning were more about waking up than getting clean. 

After, Carver tiptoed back into the bedroom. Felix was just waking up, wiping the sleep from his eyes. Carver’s heart thudded to see him like this. “You’re up,” he whispered. “Sorry.”

Felix shook his head and rolled to his side. “‘S fine.” He had that  _ look, _ like something inside him was glowing and warm, even if he wasn’t smiling.

Carver sat on the edge of the bed. Tentatively, he reached over with one hand, not sure what he was doing, just knowing he needed to touch Felix. His fingers traced Felix’s shoulder. Maybe it was because he was so tired, but the words on the tip of his tongue bypassed Carver’s filter and he found himself blurting, “God, you’re beautiful.”

Felix gave a gentle laugh of disbelief. “I think we got our lines mixed up. I was just thinking that about you. And about how lucky I am.” 

Having the compliment turned in his direction left Carver dumbstruck. He knew he wasn’t, like, ugly or anything, but growing up in Garrett’s shadow, it was hard to think of himself as attractive. “I thought I was the lucky one,” he admitted. 

Felix rolled to his side. He opened his mouth to say something, but a second later he shut it and began to laugh.

“What?”

“Just thinking of what Dorian would say. ‘Darling, you’re  _ both _ gorgeous. Not as gorgeous as me, of course, but you can’t have everything.’” Felix imitated Dorian’s drawl perfectly.

Carver laughed. “Yeah, that sounds like him.”

Felix insisted on getting up and making Carver coffee, over Carver’s protests that he should sleep. Coffee turned into breakfast. Watching Felix putter around in the kitchen in his robe and slippers, hair still mussed, was all kinds of adorable. And after breakfast was a goodbye kiss, which lasted a very, very long time, until Carver was half-hard and lightheaded. 

So actually getting out of Felix’s house took quite a while. Lady seemed no worse for the wear at his absence, at least. Still, it was almost nine by the time Carver was able to get out into the field, which threw off his whole schedule.

To make it worse, Cassandra was supposed to be stopping by at eleven, so he was even more rushed. They’d been playing phone tag for a few days -- Carver finally gave up and told her just to stop by. And then Varric showed up, almost at the same time. Carver suspected that wasn’t as much of a coincidence as it seemed. He lost another hour and a half getting them sorted before he finally stopped for lunch.

Felix had texted about a half hour before.  _ Hope you’re having a great day. :)  _

Carver’s annoyance subsided.  _ Better now.  _ He hesitated, then added a bit more.  _ But not as good as last night. ;)  _ Hell, putting it all out there had worked the night they kissed, right?

He didn’t get a reply right away, so he ate a few peanut butter sandwiches and got back to work. When he came back in for water mid-afternoon, he grinned to see his phone blinking. 

There were two texts.  _ Not sure much could top that.  _ And then a few minutes later:  _ But I’m willing to try. For science. ;)  _

“Oh, fuck,” Carver groaned, his mind flooded with memories from last night. His dick was happy to review the material thoroughly, and helpfully supplied him with some suggestions of other things he could do with Felix. Carver dug the heel of his hand into his swelling cock and took a deep breath. Much as he wanted to go over to Felix’s place and fuck the everliving crap out of him, or have Felix do the fucking -- god, he’d probably be incredible and gentle -- or oh  _ shit  _ Carver could suck Felix off, or --

Carver grunted in frustration at the erection which was now firmly established and showed no signs of abating. Dammit. He took a deep breath and forced himself to concentrate.  _ I like science. :D _

He set the phone down and went to fetch a water glass. The response came within a few seconds.  _ Are you free tonight, or is that too soon?  _

Carver winced. He was already running behind, and he’d need every scrap of daylight if he was going to finish thinning the carrots today. Which meant he wouldn’t be done until 8:00, and even if he scarfed down his food he’d still need to shower, which meant he couldn’t dream of getting to Felix’s until 9:00 at the earliest. And he wouldn’t be able to stay, not if it meant getting another late start tomorrow. 

While he was thinking it over, Felix texted again.  _ I know I made you late this morning. I could come to you, maybe bring dinner? If not no worries  _

The thought of having a proper meal waiting for him was too much to pass up.  _ If it’s no trouble? _ Carver typed.  _ I won’t be done here till sundown I’m afraid  _

_ No trouble. I like to cook almost as much as I like science :)  _

Carver laughed.  _ Well I like to eat so that works. See you later? _

_ It’s a date. <3 _

Carver grinned like an idiot as he stared at the little heart. Then he set the phone down and went into the bathroom to jerk off real quick, otherwise he’d never be able to concentrate. 

That took the edge off, barely, but Carver’s mind wandered back to Felix practically nonstop for the next few hours. Not just thinking about sex -- though there was plenty of that -- but other things, too: the way he smiled at Carver, like he couldn’t help it; the way he listened, like he actually gave a fuck what Carver was saying; even the cute way his nose scrunched. 

The problem was, daydreaming was not great for his productivity. Eventually Carver realized he was further behind than he thought. He started to rush, choking back the anger and frustration at himself for getting so distracted. 

Unlike Carver, Felix wasn’t habitually late. He drove up around 7:30, while Carver was still in the field. Despite the sinking realization that he’d have to get up extra early tomorrow to finish, Carver couldn’t help but smile as Felix made his way over. 

“I know I’m early,” he said. “I thought I could get everything ready while you finish up?”

“You - you don’t mind?” 

“Of course not,” Felix said. “How much longer do you have?”

Carver made a quick guess. “Forty-five minutes? I’m sorry I’m so behind. Cassandra showed up, and Varric to boot, and I just couldn’t catch up.” He decided not to mention that he was slowed by daydreaming about eating Felix’s ass like it was made of candy.

“I don’t mind a bit,” Felix said. “You sound like you’ve had a rough day. It’s the least I can do.”

“I really do need to get this done. It’s supposed to rain the next few days,” Carver said by way of apology.

“It’s fine. I’ll just get everything set up. Take your time.”

Carver, of course, did no such thing. He raced to finish. Thinning the carrots was fiddly and annoying, but knowing Felix was inside waiting for him was a great motivator. Still, it took most of an hour until Carver finally was able to get back inside. 

He stopped dead at the door. Felix hadn’t just brought food. The table was set with a cloth and candles -- Felix must’ve brought those -- and even Carver’s mismatched china looked good laid out properly. Plus it smelled absolutely amazing in there. 

Felix was standing over the hotplate, stirring something in a cast iron pan. “I hope you like steak medium rare,” he said. “Otherwise it might be a while.”

Carver continued to gape. “How -- you -- are those mushrooms?”

“Mmm,” Felix nodded, his eyes on the pan. “Mostly from the store. But I did find a few chanterelles, so I put them in as well.”

“This is amazing,” Carver said, finally stepping into the room. 

Felix beamed at him. “I haven’t seared the steaks yet. If you want to clean up, we’ve got a few minutes.”

“Yeah, yeah okay,” Carver agreed, suddenly aware of how filthy he was. He hurried into the bathroom. It wasn’t until he stepped out of the tub that he realized hadn’t grabbed any clean clothes. “You idiot,” he chided himself. Well, there was nothing for it. He wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped back into the main room of the cabin. 

Felix turned at the sound of the door. “Perfect tim--” his voice stuttered to a halt as he stared at Carver’s near-nudity. “--ing,” he choked out. “Um. I’ll just --” he spun around hurriedly, cheeks flushed.

Carver dashed to the dresser and shoved himself into his “nice” pair of jeans and a clean white undershirt, wishing he had more options. The jeans were too loose and skimmed his hips, but at least they weren’t ripped or stained.

He came over to Felix. “Sorry I look so scruffy. Tomorrow’s laundry day. Can I help?”

Felix was just pulling a steak from the pan. He ran his eyes down Carver’s body and bit his lip. “You look great,” he murmured. “Maybe you could pour the wine?”

Carver sat down and did as he was asked. After a moment Felix put a plate in front of him, with a gorgeous steak and a veritable mountain of fried potatoes and mushrooms. “Let me know if it’s too salty,” he said, sitting across from him with his own, considerably less laden plate. “Sometimes I get a little heavy-handed with the seasoning.”

Slicing into his steak, Carver saw it was perfectly cooked. He took a bite and slumped, groaning a little at how good it was. “Maker, this is perfect. How did you manage all this on that tiny burner?”

“Oh, I didn’t actually cook anything here,” Felix said. “Just warmed it up. I have a sous vide machine at home so I did the steaks in that. All I needed to do was sear them, and if you leave a cast iron pan on long enough, it’ll get hot even on a hot plate.” 

Carver had no idea what a sous vide thingy was, but the steak was probably the best he’d ever eaten. “This is incredible,” he said, trying the potatoes. They were crispy and soft on the inside. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”

Felix shrugged modestly. “I watched a lot of cooking shows when I was sick as a kid. Made me want to learn to do it for real, once I was up and about.” He sipped his wine.

“Well I’m glad you did,” Carver said. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me.”

Felix laughed a little at that. “No one’s ever cooked for you?” 

Carver thought back. “Not really. Not like this. I had one girlfriend in college -- Lace -- she liked to bake, but that was more like I just got to eat whatever she made.” Carver wondered if it was a bad idea to bring up his exes, especially the women. It wasn’t like Felix thought he was some fresh-faced virgin, right? Still, Carver had no idea if that was a faux-pas or not.

Felix grinned, apparently unbothered. “Never got into desserts. I think that’d be dangerous for me. Too tempting.” 

“Well she did teach me how to make brownies, so maybe I can do that sometime. For you?” Carver asked.

Felix’s grin widened. “I do love chocolate.”

There was a lull while they ate. After a moment, Felix spoke up. “So what did Cassandra and Varric want?” Felix refilled their cups with wine.

“Oh,” Carver sighed. “Just farm stuff. And Varric wanted to talk to me about getting in touch with my brother. Something about the community center and grants.” He took a forkful of mushrooms. They were fucking delicious -- salty and almost sweet and meaty. “Wait, you picked some of these? You know about wild mushrooms?”

“I do,” Felix said. “Ah… Amell taught me, actually.” He cleared his throat, like he wasn’t sure Carver wanted to hear about it.

“Oh,” Carver blinked. “Yeah, he wrote a lot of notes about it. Berries and fiddleheads and all sorts of stuff. Wasn’t brave enough to try for the mushrooms, though.”

“As a doctor, I approve of your caution,” Felix grinned. “And if you want me to teach you, I’d be more than happy. They grow all around here.”

“That’d be great,” Carver nodded. Suddenly he noticed that Lady had taken the opportunity to sit at Felix’s knee, her eyes huge and imploring as she rested her chin on his leg.

“Sweetie, no,” Carver said, absently snapping his fingers. “It’s very rude to beg.”

Felix was looking down at his plate, but Carver could’ve sworn he murmured “that’s a shame” under his breath. Given the way Felix then bit his lip, glancing up at him through his lashes, Carver was pretty sure he’d heard right. 

Carver inhaled sharply, feeling a blush creep up his neck. He swiped his cup of wine from the table, draining it as he blinked rapidly.

“Sorry,” Felix said, laughing in embarrassment. 

Carver’s brain was still a few steps behind. “Don’t be sexy.  _ Sorry!  _ Don’t be  _ sorry.”  _

Felix continued to laugh quietly, pushing the last bite of steak around his plate before popping it into his mouth. “Anyway.”

“Yes, right,” Carver croaked. He concentrated on his plate. The last thing he needed was to choke on his food. 

Felix, meanwhile, leaned forward, forearms resting on the table, fingers toying with the rim of the jelly-jar-turned-wineglass. Carver couldn’t be sure, but it did seem like there was a bit of sparkle to his eyes, though. And the flush never quite receded from Felix’s cheeks. 

Carver cleaned his plate a moment later. “That was so good,” he said. “Thank you so much.”

“My pleasure,” Felix grinned.

Carver bit his lip before he blurted out anything inappropriate. Instead he rose and cleared the table, insisting that Felix relax. “You did all the work,” he said. “Let me do something, at least.” Since there were so few plates, it only took a minute to give them a wash. Carver drew this out as long as he could, racking his brain for a way to move things to the physical realm. He didn’t have a couch or anything, so it’s not like he could suggest they watch TV. And it seemed wrong to just try and get Felix in bed straight away. 

He turned to gather the last bits from the table. Felix stood and handed him everything that was left, aside from the wine glasses. He didn’t seem as nervous as yesterday, which was good. The tentativeness with which he reached for Carver seemed more playful than shy, sliding a hand to Carver’s hip as he finished with the dishes. From there it was simple to turn to Felix. Carver cleared his throat. “So, um. What would you, er, like to do now?” 

“Well there  _ was _ all that talk about science earlier.” He latched a finger through Carver’s belt loop and tugged him closer. But the pants were loose, giving Felix a clear view of Carver’s swelling cock, since Carver hadn’t bothered with underwear. Felix drew in a sharp breath through his nose, raising his eyebrows.

“Sorry,” Carver mumbled. “I wasn’t trying to -- I mean, I don’t expect anything. I just… well. Laundry day tomorrow.” He tried for a smile, inwardly dying a little. Felix probably never ran out of underwear. Because he was an adult with a real job and a washer and dryer and a sous-vide thing, whatever that was. 

Felix barely seemed to hear him, responding with a vague hum, his eyes trained on the exposed skin of Carver’s dick. He licked his lips, and Carver groaned, his cock twitching.

Carver pulled him in for a kiss. He hadn’t meant it to be rough, or maybe Felix was off-balance, because they crashed together. Felix seemed fine with it though, whimpering a little when Carver’s teeth met his bottom lip. 

In the blur of kissing and moving against each other, Carver’s cock shifted up, the tip jutting out just past his waistband. Felix’s hand found it, his palm sliding across the crown, back and forth.

“Oh, fuck,” Carver whispered. “I think -- should we -- bed?”

Felix was already nodding. He stumbled to the four-poster and laid on his back, propped up by his elbows. 

Carver yanked his t-shirt off and immediately went to the buttons on Felix’s shirt. He looked up for approval, and Felix nodded, biting his lip. Carver did not take his time, too eager to get Felix as naked as possible. Once he ran out of buttons, he undid Felix’s shorts, pulling them away as Felix scooted his hips upward. 

Carver didn’t think; he instinctively went straight for Felix’s cock, swiping his tongue from the root to tip.

“Oh god,” Felix hissed, his hand clutching Carver’s shoulder. “Wait.”

Carver froze. “Sorry,” he said automatically.

“No it’s… you don’t have to do that,” he said.

Carver’s brain struggled to catch up. “Don’t you… want me to?” Carver had never known a man who didn’t want his dick sucked as a matter of course, but that didn’t mean they didn’t exist. 

Felix gave a near-hysterical laugh. “God I do. But only if you want to.”

“You kidding? I’ve been thinking about it all day,” Carver murmured, kissing the juncture of Felix’s thigh and hip. 

Another laugh, this one breathy and relieved. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

Carver started again, licking away the droplet that had beaded on the tip of Felix’s cock. “I’m really, really sure.”

Sucking Felix was a thousand times better than Carver had imagined. The man moaned continuously, his hips shifting minutely under Carver’s hands. It was insanely hot: needy and sensual in equal measure. Felix’s cock was a little bigger than Carver could comfortably handle, but that’s what his hand was for. 

Carver brought him to the edge twice. It wasn’t his intention to tease; somehow Carver kept losing the thread, the rhythm of his tongue or hand thrown off by a shift of Felix’s hips or his own jaw fatigue. The third time, Felix was almost thrashing. “Carv, I’m going to come,” he warned. “I can’t help it.”

Something felt wrong about the way he said it, pinging through Carver’s mind, but Carver ignored it, too focused on getting Felix off. He moaned encouragingly around Felix, nodding.

Felix came with a hoarse shout, arching off the mattress. Carver moved with him as best he could, swallowing as much of the spend as he was able, more out of a desire to avoid a mess than for the taste.

He clambered up to lay next to Felix, who was wide-eyed and panting. “Okay?”

“So much better than okay,” Felix whispered. “You really didn’t need to.”

Another warning bell pealed in Carver’s mind, but it dissipated before he could figure it out. “Felix, I promise I like it.” Now that he didn’t have a mouthful of cock, Carver’s brain caught up, supplying a reason why Felix seemed so hesitant to let Carver suck him off. “I mean, if  _ you  _ don’t, that’s fine, you don’t have to.” Carver hoped he sounded sincere; he meant it, but the prospect of not getting to feel Felix’s lips on his dick was a little disappointing.

“What? No, no, I totally want to,” Felix said. He laughed again, breathless. “Very much so. Like, right now.”

It was Carver’s turn to laugh. He rolled off the bed and popped the button on his fly. His pants fell a few inches -- they’d barely been holding on to begin with. Felix groaned, scooting around to sit on the edge of the mattress, reaching for his zipper.

He didn’t wait for Carver to get his pants off all the way. Once they were around Carver’s hips, Felix sucked him all the way down to the root, cradling Carver’s balls in one hand. 

Carver bit back a groan that would’ve been embarrassingly close to a whine. “Shit, that feels so good,” he murmured, laying a hand gently on Felix’s hair.

Felix looked up at him, his eyes wide.

Carver’s central nervous system system must’ve been too busy trying to keep him from bucking into Felix’s mouth and coming right then and there, because whatever normally jammed his ability to talk cleared up. “Oh god, that’s so good, Felix, your mouth -- fuck -- god you’re so beautiful, please don’t stop. That’s it -- oh god, like that, suck my cock, please suck it, please, oh shit, you’re going to make me come.” 

The flood of words dried to a trickle, until Carver was merely grunting through gritted teeth. He hung on the edge for what felt like forever. When the wave finally hit, he hissed  _ now _ , the word falling off into  _ ohhh _ as he spurted into Felix’s mouth. His hand slid around to Felix’s jaw, and when he realized he could feel Felix swallowing he shuddered the last of his climax.

After, Felix leaned back, stretching his neck and shoulders.

“Sorry,” Carver murmured. 

“What for?” Felix smiled indulgently, reaching for his boxers.

“I didn’t even get my pants off,” he pointed out. “I promise I don’t always rush like this. I just….” Carver huffed in frustration. Felix deserved better than for Carver to say  _ I just want you so much I can hardly stand it.  _ He wasn’t a piece of meat, after all.

Felix slipped into his underwear, then reached for his shirt. “It’s fine,” he said, still grinning as he poked his arm through one sleeve. “I get it.”

“Wait, are -- are you leaving?” 

Felix stopped buttoning up his shirt. “I… don’t have to,” he said slowly. “I didn’t want to presume.”

_ Of course he doesn’t want to sleep in this ramshackle crap heap.  _ “Oh, uh… right,” Carver nodded. “Well I mean, you don’t have to stay. I get it. Not like I can make you breakfast,” he tried to laugh. It was a pretty weak attempt.

“I can stay,” Felix blurted. “I just didn’t think you wanted me to.”

Carver hesitated, unable to tell if he was making it up. Felix was such a sweet person, of course he would say that kind of thing to avoid hurting Carver’s feelings. “It’s fine,” Carver said. “I mean, I  _ want  _ you to stay, but your bed is so much more comfortable, plus I have to wake up early, and --”

“Carver. I’ll stay. I  _ want _ to stay.” Felix gave him one of those smiles, the tiny ones that were scared and hopeful at the same time. “I really, really do.”

“Okay,” Carver said, relief washing through him. 

Of course there was still a few minutes to get ready -- teeth to be brushed, lights to turn off, phones to charge. But soon enough Felix was sliding into bed next to him. And for all that it had been awkward a few minutes ago,  _ this _ \-- the way their bodies curled together, hands clasped in front of Felix’s chest -- was effortless and natural. Carver sank into the rightness of it as he drifted to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Suburbannomad for Dorian's 'dialogue' snippet. :) I totally stole their idea and stuck it here because I love it so much.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix reveals some of his past, and Carver tries too hard. Dorian meddles.

The next morning, Carver eased himself off the mattress at his usual time, wincing at the squeak. Luckily, it was already raining, the patter of drops on the roof masking the sound. He turned on the electric kettle and then went to the bathroom, hoping the noise of the flushing toilet wouldn’t wake Felix up.

No such luck. When he came back in, Felix was blinking at him with a bleary smile. “Good morning.”

“Sorry,” Carver said, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Go back to sleep.”

“No it’s fine, I’m up. Don’t want to get in your hair,” Felix said, trying to push himself to a sitting position.

“You won’t be,” Carver said, wishing he had a proper bedroom. “I’ve got some things to do in the basement.”

“You sure?” Felix was already snuggling back under the blanket.

“Yeah. Get some rest.” Carver tiptoed out, pausing to mix himself a cup of instant coffee on the way.

Carver clambered downstairs, where there were a few shelves of pickles and berry preserves that needed labeling. In the quiet, musty cellar, Carver methodically wrote out the labels and stuck them to the lids in between sips of coffee. It didn’t require a lot of thought, and his mind wandered back to the previous evening. Maybe it was because he’d literally slept on it, but it he suddenly remembered the twinge of unease he’d felt, right before Felix had finished. What was more important was that he now realized why it had bothered him. He turned it over and over in his mind, until he heard the floorboards creak above him. Felix was awake.

Carver headed upstairs just as Felix was emerging from the bathroom. “Thanks for letting me sleep,” Felix said.

“No problem. Would you like some coffee? It’s only instant.”

“Sure,” Felix said, sitting at the table.

Carver heated more water and fetched another mug. “Did you sleep okay?”

Felix hummed and nodded. “Very well. You?”

Carver nodded too, stirring a spoonful of coffee into a the hot water and handing it to Felix.

“Thanks,” Felix said. He smacked his lips after he took a sip, in that exaggerated way people do with hot drinks.

“Sorry it’s crappy,” Carver mumbled, sitting across from him. “Not nearly as good as yours.”

“It’s delicious,” Felix said, his eyes twinkling, and Carver knew what Felix really meant was _it’s terrible but I like it because you made it for me._

God, Felix was just so sweet. He deserved so much better than instant coffee in a chipped mug. All the thinking Carver had done that morning was starting to make him feel off-center, so he took a deep breath. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Last night, when I was….” Carver hesitated, unsure of how to ask his question without getting vulgar.

After a long beat, Felix grinned. “I’m going to need you to be more specific.”

Carver inhaled, holding it for a second. “It seemed like you were holding back,” he finished. At the time, Carver had figured that he’d edged Felix without meaning to, just from not understanding how best to get him off, but now he wasn’t sure. “You said you couldn’t help it.”

“Oh, that.” Felix cleared his throat. “I wasn’t sure you wanted me to finish. Er. _There._ We hadn’t talked about it, and I didn’t want to surprise you.”

“Ohhh,” Carver tried to apply that explanation to his memory. It still didn’t quite fit; or rather, the shape of it didn’t fill the entire space, like there was still a piece missing. Not wanting to get surprised by a mouthful of semen was one thing; the desperation in Felix’s voice had been something else altogether. Like he was afraid of how Carver would react or something. “Well, for future reference, I don’t have a problem with it. I mean, you know. I like it.”

“Do you?” Something about Felix’s voice was off. “I wasn’t sure what your... preferences were.” The last few words were directed into his coffee mug, his smile strained, almost a grimace.

Carver was still uneasy. Something was clearly wrong. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said.

“You didn’t,” Felix said, looking up. When he saw Carver’s face, the smile slid from his expression. “What’s the matter?”

It was all so frustrating. Carver struggled to find the words. “I don’t want to mess this up,” he said finally. “I feel like something’s wrong, and I’m not smart enough or something because I don’t know what it is.”

“Oh god,” Felix groaned, rubbing his temples and forehead. “I’m sorry. It’s me. It’s totally me, I’m… not very good at this, apparently.”

“But you _are,”_ Carver insisted. “Look, _I’m_ the guy who’s bad at dating -- ask my last girlfriend. She’ll give you an itemized list of everything I messed up. And I don’t want to do that again.” He faltered. “I really like you, Felix.”

“I really like you too.” Felix paused. “I think a part of me keeps looking for something to be wrong with you, because it’s hard for me to believe you want me.”

Carver laughed, very loud. “Well you’re not looking very hard, then. Or did you miss the part where I dig in the literal dirt all day and live in a shack in the woods and I don’t have a penny to my name or access to a stove or a regular supply of clean underwear?” He only stopped listing things because he ran out of breath.

Felix laughed too, though not as bitterly. “I was thinking more like, maybe you don’t actually like being with guys romantically but you’re willing to fuck them and have them suck your cock.”

“What?” Somehow Carver got the impression that the example was based on very specific experience.

Felix was looking at the ceiling again. He gave a tight smile, his lips pressed together so hard they were difficult to see. “God, sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Ancient history.”

“Andraste’s fucking tits, who did that to you?” Anger had blotted out all of Carver’s confusion.

Felix shook his head. “It wasn’t… that bad,” he said. _“He_ wasn’t that bad. I was too naive. His name was Livius. He lived in that abandoned house, south of the river.”

“The one that’s infested with rats?”

“Dorian says that began long before Livius moved out,” Felix acknowledged.

Finally, the missing piece fell into place in Carver’s head and he could see the whole picture. It wasn’t just that Felix was embarrassed by his body; he was afraid that Carver didn’t actually like cock that much. The few times he’d toyed around with online hookup apps, Carver had seen posts from guys that billed themselves as mostly straight, but were willing to top other dudes, as long as there was no reciprocity involved. Never made much sense to him, but he’d never really thought about it, either.

Carver’s stomach turned, thinking about Felix putting up with that, not because he wanted it that way, but because he thought he couldn’t do better. “Felix,” he sighed. “I really like _you_ ,” he said again, willing the man to understand.  “And yeah, I’ve been with girls a bunch but I don’t have a preference, honest. It’s like food. If you put it in front of me, I’m going to eat it.”

For a moment, Felix looked so hopeful and soft that Carver thought his heart would break. Then he blinked and started giggling.

Carver realized what he’d just said. “Maker, no, not like that, I didn’t mean --”

Too late. Carver got caught up in it, laughing despite himself. Finally, they calmed down, and Felix drained his mug. “Any chance for a refill?”

“You sure?” Carver had thought Felix was only drinking it out of politeness.

“I feel about coffee the way you do about food,” Felix grinned. “So, what’s on your plate for the day?”

Carver wasn’t sure they’d cleared everything up, but he wasn’t going to push. “Laundry,” Carver admitted. “And I need to try to get to the library. Varric convinced me to set up a facebook and website for the farm. Frankly, I don’t see the point, but….” He shrugged.

“Varric can be very convincing,” Felix said. “And if you want, you can do the web stuff at my house. Actually you can do the laundry too. I have to be at the clinic at ten, but you can stay as long as you need.”

Carver hesitated. On the surface it was a no-brainer; it would be a hundred times easier to take him up on the offer than not. But it felt kind of sad, the idea of bringing his dirty clothes to someone’s house. “You’ve already gone out of your way, making me dinner. It wouldn’t be right.”

“It’s really no trouble,” Felix said. “If you change your mind, just stop in the clinic and I’ll get you a key.”

An idea began to form in Carver’s mind, a way to even the score a little. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll do that. Long as you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

Felix left about a half-hour later. Carver waited until the car was out of view before dashing out into the rain. He had a lot to do in a short time, if he was going to pull this off.

It was simple, really. Felix said he liked brownies, so Carver could bake some. And he’d loved the little bouquet Carver had brought, so he’d probably like a larger one, right? Carver knew the basics of arranging flowers from his sister, and the edges of the fields were exploding with wildflowers right now. Yeah, that’d be nice to come home to: fresh brownies and a big vase of blooms. Granted, Carver would have to do the baking and arranging at Felix’s, but he could clean all that up, no big deal.

A couple hours later, Carver parked his truck in the alley behind Felix’s place. He walked around to the front of the building to the clinic entrance. The nurse was at the desk, filing some charts. “Can I help you?”

“Er, is Felix here?”

The nurse blinked very deliberately, keeping her face carefully neutral. “He’s with a patient,” she said, because where else would he be, clearly.

“Right, sorry, he said I could get a key…?”

“Oh! Forgive me, you must be Carver,” she said, her whole demeanor shifting. “I thought you were a walk-in. He’s such a softie, refuses to turn anyone down you know, even if it keeps him here till late,” she tutted. From under the counter she produced a keychain and handed it over.

“Thanks, er… sorry, didn’t catch your name.”

“Orana,” she said, holding out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah,” Carver said, shaking her hand. “You too. And thanks,” he said, brandishing the key.

It was weird to let himself into Felix’s house, but Carver didn’t dwell on it. He threw a load into the wash first thing, then got to work.

In his eagerness, Carver dove right in without thinking things through. He knew almost immediately this was a mistake; planning things out was not his forte. On the farm, he had extensive lists and schedules to keep him on track, having learned over the years that it was the best way for him to get things done. Winging it usually got him into trouble.

This was no exception. So when the doorbell rang just before noon, Carver was frazzled. He wasn’t going to answer it, of course; it wasn’t his house. Whoever it was would leave, surely. But then he heard the door open, and Dorian’s voice calling out. “Felix? You here?” Without waiting for an answer, the man walked in.

“Andraste’s tits!” Carver yelped, leaping away from where he stood at the stove. The wooden spoon he’d been using to stir clattered to the floor, splattering a goopy, dark-brown mess all over. “Shit, what are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Dorian said, raising an eyebrow as he took in the scene. Every cabinet and drawer in the kitchen was open, and the counters covered in dirty bowls and dishes and flour. There was a five-gallon bucket on the floor full of twigs and flowers, and the kitchen island was blanketed in damp newspaper and leaves. And of course, Carver was nearly naked, wearing only a very skimpy pair of running shorts.

Carver squatted to clean up the mess. “This isn’t what it looks like, I swear.”

Dorian laughed skeptically, leaning on the doorframe.

Before he could say anything, Carver went on. “It’s brownies. And flowers. It’s a surprise. For Felix.” Carver stopped himself from explaining further, because who else would it be for? He felt enormously foolish and tremendously angry at himself.

Dorian stepped into the room. “You’re making brownies?”

Carver sighed, leaning over the sink. “That was the idea, anyway. Probably looks like I’m ransacking the place.”

“That had occurred to me, yes,” Dorian said, pointedly looking at the cabinets.

“I left them like that so I know where to put everything back, without opening and closing them a million times.”

“Oh,” Dorian said, taken aback. “That’s quite brilliant, actually.” Then his grin came back, and he looked Carver up and down. “And is there some benefit to baking with no clothes on?”

“Everything else is in the wash,” Carver mumbled. Maker, he was such an idiot. He shouldn’t have tried to wash everything at once. He shouldn’t have tried to cheap out by trying to arrange another bouquet and baking something from scratch. He should’ve just shelled out for a nice bottle of wine and then made up for it by eating ramen the rest of the week. At least then it wouldn’t be so obvious how fucking broke he was.

“Ah, well, that’s just plain efficient,” Dorian nodded.

Carver scowled at him, unsure if he was being mocked. “What are _you_ doing here, anyway?”

“Came to borrow a cookbook,” he smirked. “Apparently I need to learn how to make a disgusting-sounding Ferelden concoction called Toad in the Hole.”

It didn’t take much for Carver to get the implication. “You’re making it for Garrett.”

Dorian just continued to smirk at him. “And you’re making Felix brownies,” he said thoughtfully. “That’s absolutely adorable.”

Carver frowned harder. “Yeah, well....” The dryer buzzed from down the hall. Without finishing the thought, Carver pushed past Dorian to the laundry room.

He hastily got dressed, then took his time folding his clean clothes and re-loading the dryer. Maybe Dorian would just grab the book and leave. Carver liked the guy well enough, but the whole thing was just embarrassing. He’d hoped to just leave the finished treats for Felix, with everything all cleaned up as if Carver had never been there. Now, however, that seemed next-to-impossible. Dorian clearly thought the whole thing was funny and would undoubtedly tell Felix how his loser boyfriend had trashed his kitchen like a crazed raccoon.

Dorian, however, was still in the kitchen when Carver came back. In fact he’d made himself a cup of tea; clearly he had no compunction about making himself at home in Felix’s absence. He settled on a stool on the far side of the kitchen island, sweeping aside some leaves to make room for his teacup.

Well it wasn’t as if Carver could kick him out, so he went back to the brownie batter, stirring the dry ingredients into the melted chocolate and butter.

“So. Brownies _and_ flowers,” Dorian said after a moment. “What brought this on?”

Carver ground his teeth together. “For letting me use the laundry.” The _duh_ was implied. “He offered.” He poured the batter into the baking tin.

“Of course he did,” Dorian nodded.

“Look,” Carver spluttered, slamming the oven door shut. “I’m not like that other guy, okay? I know Felix is too good for me, but I’m doing the best I can, alright?” He hadn’t meant to say that, but it had been building up all day.

Dorian frowned at him. Carver expected an argument, but instead Dorian said, “Told you about Livius, did he? Maker, but the man was a tool.” Dorian sighed. “And you misunderstand me. _I_ happen to think you’re one of the best things that’s happened to Felix in a long time.”

Carver still didn’t quite believe it. “Do you.” He started piling the dirty dishes in the sink.

“Absolutely,” Dorian said. “You’re baking brownies for him, for fuck’s sake. That’s all kinds of precious. And I’m relatively certain you don’t have a secret family hidden in the city.”

“What?” Carver dropped the bowl he was washing into the hot water, splashing himself. Well, at least it was clean.

“Ah, so he didn’t tell you everything. I’m not surprised,” Dorian said. “And yes. Livius Erimond was a scoundrel. Felix was head over heels for him -- Livius could certainly turn on the charm when it suited him. He took complete advantage of poor Felix. It wasn’t until Mrs. Erimond came to town looking for him, baby on hip, that Felix realized how bad it was. Well. Of course the whole village turned against Livius. Ha! Ask Sera about it sometime; she has some great stories. Nobody told Felix that, of course; he wouldn’t have approved. Livius slunk out of town a few weeks later.” Dorian sipped his tea.

“Is that why you thought I was stringing him along?” Carver asked.

“Yes,” Dorian admitted. “I’ve never been so glad to be wrong. Wait, that’s not quite true -- I was wrong about Garrett being a top, and --”

“Augh, shut up!” Carver put his hands over his ears as Dorian began to laugh. As such, he missed the sound of the front door opening and closing again.

A new voice cut into the laughter. “What on earth is going on here?” It was Felix, standing in the doorway with a confused smile.

Carver whipped around. “You’re home,” he said. “What -- I thought you were working?”

“We have lunch on Tuesdays,” Dorian explained helpfully.

“You said you came for a cookbook!” Carver accused.

“That too,” Dorian grinned.

“Is this why you texted me to meet you here rather than the clinic?” Felix asked, looking at Dorian. He glanced around, still confused. The place wasn’t as much of a mess as it had been a few minutes ago, but it was a far sight from clean.

“I caught Prince Charming here baking you brownies _and_ arranging what appears to be every wildflower in the forest,” Dorian said, peering at the bucket on the floor. “I thought maybe you’d like to see the work in progress. Shame he put the rest of his clothes on, though. The running shorts were _quite_ fetching.” He sipped his tea with an expression of exaggerated innocence.

“It was supposed to be a _surprise,”_ Carver grunted, folding his arms across his chest. Fucking Dorian. This was exactly the kind of thing Garrett would do. No wonder they got along so well.

Felix was still looking around helplessly.

“I promise I’ll clean it all up,” Carver said quickly. “I brought the ingredients with me, I promise. I only used your bowls and things, I didn’t take any of your food. I’m sorry, I should’ve found some other way to do it, I just didn’t have a lot of time and I thought I could get it all done at once and --”

“Ugh,” Dorian groaned, cutting off the explanation. “I’m in danger of getting a cavity. I’ll meet you out front, Felix. Take your time.” He strolled out, shaking his head.

Felix still hadn’t moved, taking in the destruction of his kitchen with wide eyes.

“I’m really sorry,” Carver said quietly. “I only wanted to thank you for letting me do the laundry. Stupid of me, really -- of course you didn’t tell me I could use the kitchen. I didn’t think it through, I just --”

He had to stop talking then, because Felix swooped in and began kissing him desperately, pausing only to whisper individual words. “Stop. Apologizing. Carver. Oh, Carver,” Felix said finally, pressing their foreheads together. “This is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

Carver relaxed a little. He put his arms around Felix’s waist. “The sweetest thing anyone’s ever done is wreck your kitchen? That’s not good.”

Felix laughed at that, kissing him again until the timer on the oven beeped.

“I have to go,” Felix said. “Do you… will you still be here once I’m done?”

“I… can be? I’ll have to go home for a bit, to feed Lady, but I can come back. If you like.”

Felix nodded. “I would like that, very much.” He looked hopeful and scared at the same time. Then he smiled faintly. “Otherwise I’ll eat all the brownies myself.”

Carver snickered. “I can help with that,” he said.

“Okay.” Felix grinned wider and gave him one more smooch. “I’ll be home around 5. I could make us dinner again?” He was already pulling away from Carver and heading for the door.

“Yeah, okay,” Carver nodded.

At the front door, Felix beamed at him for another moment, then let himself out. Carver stood in the kitchen, still trying to puzzle out how the whole thing hadn’t been a disaster. And then it occurred to him what he was smelling: burnt chocolate. “Oh shit, the brownies!” He lunged for the oven, just in time.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, the brownies turned out fine.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrett comes back to town.

“Andraste’s tits, Garrett, will you shut up already?” Carver knew this would happen. He just figured his brother would run out of air eventually. 

And yet here he was, still laughing. He had started as soon as he got out of the car, and hadn’t stopped yet. It was going on four minutes. “I -- sorry -- it’s --  _ chickens -- they --” _ Garrett wheezed, doubled over, before succumbing to another jag of laughter. 

“I think it’s cute,” Felix said defensively. “They’re like little princesses in their little castle.”

Carver appreciated his boyfriend’s attempts to help, he truly did, but it was the opposite of effective. Garrett lost it, sinking to the ground and rolling on his back.

“I hope you know the chickens shit there,” Carver grumbled.

“Garrett, you’re offending them,” Felix said, reaching down to scoop one of the chickens -- a black and white laced Sebright bantam -- off the ground. “Look at poor Heather here. She’s beside herself.” For all Felix’s protests, the little hen seemed remarkably unaffected by Garrett’s histrionics, settling into Felix’s arms. “It’s okay, sweetie. Don’t listen to the mean man.”

The object of Garrett’s ridicule was not, in fact, the chickens themselves, but their coop. Cassandra had asked Carver to take the bantams off her hands a few weeks ago -- they were a bad fit with the rest of her flock. They were smaller than normal hens, and the larger chickens had taken to bullying. The problem was, Carver didn’t have a coop, nor could he afford to build one. In a stroke of “fortune” that was patently transparent, Varric had also been at the farm at the same time, and had the perfect solution: a little shed that he’d been meaning to take to the landfill. He could bring it by the next day, he said. No problem, he said.

Except it wasn’t a little shed. It was a plastic children’s playhouse. A very  _ pink  _ plastic children’s playhouse.

“Look, it’s the right size, it’s easy to clean, and it would’ve gone to the dump otherwise,” Carver said, kicking a clod of soil at his brother. “And unless you want me to tell Dorian you spent the day rolling in chicken shit, I suggest you get it together.”

“Ahh, that is hilarious,” Garrett said, still hiccupping with the odd laugh or two. Lady began to whine, pawing at him. “Alright alright, I’m getting up already,” he protested, heaving himself to his feet. “Do I have shit on my back?” he asked, craning his neck to try to see.

Carver said  _ yes  _ at the same time Felix said  _ no.  _

“I’m going to trust the good doctor on this one,” Garrett smirked. “Maker, I still can’t believe you have chickens,” he said, shaking his head. 

“Cassandra didn’t leave much room to say no,” Carver said. Truth was, he was pretty happy she’d offered to give him the hens. Lord knows he ate enough eggs, and the chickens did a great job eating insects and table scraps. Plus Lady absolutely loved her new role as Protector of the Flock; she’d have slept in their run if Carver allowed it.

“Cassandra… Is she the tall redhead that looks like she could benchpress me, or the tall brunette that looks like she could benchpress me?” Garrett asked.

“The brunette,” Carver confirmed. 

“Anyway, I’ll let you two catch up,” Felix said, setting down the hen. “Just need to go wash my hands, and I’ll be off.”

“You need anything for dinner?” Carver called after him.

“Tomatoes? And basil. I can do a salad.”

Carver nodded as Felix went into the cabin.

“Well this is all refreshingly domestic,” Garrett grinned. “Given that it’s not even nine in the morning, I take it he stayed the night?”

“Yes, some of us have normal relationships, without the need to go double-plus ultra and date All The Men,” Carver said. “You should try it sometime.” He was kidding, of course; Carver had nothing whatsoever against poly relationships, but he had to make fun of Garrett for  _ something. _

“Now now, don’t be jealous,” Garrett tutted. “Really though. I’m glad it’s going well. Dinner should be fun. I like Felix.” 

“Yeah, it’s…. Good,” Carver said. Talking about it felt dangerous, like it might break the spell. “Anyway. Since you’re here, you might as well help. Come on,” Carver said, handing him a pair of gloves. “You can help me pull carrots.”

Garrett helped in the field till lunch, then cleaned himself up to go meet with Varric in the afternoon. It was starting to feel almost comfortable between him and his brother, something Carver hadn’t expected. Maybe it was just because they spent their time being busy, rather than sitting around with nothing to do, the way it was at mother’s house for holidays. They still sniped at each other, but the venom was largely gone. 

There had been a lot of venom, once upon a time. Garrett was in college when their father died. With the age difference, they’d never been close, and Carver had always had Bethany. With Malcolm gone, suddenly Carver found himself the man of the house, whatever that was supposed to mean. Mostly it seemed to mean doing the hardest chores and getting the brunt of his mother’s frustration and grief. It was an imperfect system, but they limped along as a family.

But a few times a year, Garrett would come home and smash everything to bits. At least, that’s what it felt like. Nothing Carver did was ever right; Garrett had a better way to do everything, even if it was just taking out the trash. And their mother deferred to Garrett seemingly without question, as if Carver hadn’t been pulling his weight around the house since he was fifteen. 

When Bethany died a few years later, Carver started fighting back in earnest. He’d been relentless, sniping at Garrett at every opportunity. Anger was a safe emotion; everything else got shunted into a blank depression. Garrett gave as good as he’d gotten, until they came to blows one Satinalia over the proper way to carve the turkey.

After that, they settled into an unspoken truce, though they never really resolved anything. Carver supposed he’d just gotten tired of being angry after a while. He certainly couldn’t dredge up that ill feeling now, not after so much time.

Or maybe it was because Carver just felt better overall. Things with Felix were great, and the farm was still breaking even. He was even on track to finally get some rudimentary irrigation in place at the end of the season. Granted, it was going to be some weird system that Dagna dreamed up, and Carver wasn’t so much paying for it as bartering to allow Sera to keep bees in one of his unused fields, but still. Maybe he’d get the cabin re-wired before the year was out. 

Carver hauled the last crate of carrots into the cellar just after five in the evening. He had just enough time to clean up and get to Felix’s a little early. Perfect.

Felix was on his front stoop, cleaning his grill with a wire brush. “Ooh, those look delicious,” he cooed, peeking into the basket of tomatoes Carver was carrying.

“I hope so,” Carver said. “Where would you like them?”

“Kitchen’s fine. There’s beer in the fridge. I’ll be in soon, just need to get the coals going or we’ll never eat.”

Carver let himself in and retrieved a beer. There were five swordfish steaks marinating in the fridge, and some kind of potato salad thing that looked delicious. Tempting as it was to sample it, Carver washed the tomatoes and basil in the sink instead. Might as well be useful. 

Felix came in as Carver set the tomatoes in a colander to drain. “Oh, thank you, that’s so sweet,” he said, as if Carver had done something difficult. 

“What else can I do?” Carver asked, slouching against the counter.

“I think I have everything under control,” Felix said. “Thank you though.” He leaned over and gave Carver a quick kiss.

Carver knew that was code for “please get out of my way”, so he moved to the far side of the kitchen island. “What time are they coming?”

“I told Dorian six, so he’ll either be here in five minutes or an hour late,” Felix laughed. 

Carver smiled and took a swig of beer. “At least he’s consistent?”

As if on cue, Dorian strolled into the kitchen, with Cullen and Garrett trailing behind. “Who’s consistent?”

“You are, darling,” Felix grinned. 

“Consistently  _ what  _ remains to be seen.” With an easy familiarity, Cullen rooted through the fridge for a beer and plunked himself onto the stool next to Carver.

“Ooh, I know the answer to this one,” Garrett announced, then proceeded to give Dorian a playful swat on the behind. 

Dorian looked torn between being gratified and embarrassed by the gesture, and chose to ignore it. “I’ve got a Marcher rosé and an Orlesian chard,” Dorian said, setting both bottles down. “I couldn’t decide.”

“Open them both, might as well,” Felix answered. “Garrett, help yourself to beer if you prefer. Or there’s liquor in the cabinet.”

Over the next half hour they chatted while Felix and Dorian finished getting dinner ready. It was nice, Carver decided. He hadn’t quite been sure what to expect from this double-date idea, but by now he was comfortable enough with both Cullen and Dorian that there was little room for it to be stuffy or awkward. In fact Garrett was more the odd man out, which was quite a strange thing for Carver to witness. 

It came out in subtle ways: the way Garrett was the first to offer to help, how quick he was to laugh and smile. Carver had always envied his brother’s ability to charm the birds from the trees, but seeing it from the other side was both odd and somehow a little satisfying, underscoring how well Carver had managed to settle in with Felix and his friends. 

Once the fish was grilled, they settled around Felix’s dining room table, temporarily cleared of model airplanes for the occasion. Carver had never eaten swordfish before; it was surprisingly substantial. With four other people carrying the conversation, he felt free to concentrate on eating, helping himself to thirds of potato salad while hoping that went unnoticed.

“So, how was your meeting with Varric?” Felix asked Garrett. 

“Good. He’s exactly the kind of mayor I like to work for. Enthusiastic, willing to look outside the box, and he knows things cost money. Surprising how many elected officials forget that last part.” Garrett reached for his beer. “I’m good at writing grants, but a lot of people expect money to fall from the sky.”

Carver wasn’t quite sure how he felt about the idea of Garrett working for Varric. For some reason, it bothered him. “You going to write a grant for the community center, then?” 

“Not this year. But actually, now that you mention it….” Garrett said, shifting in his seat. Carver caught the look he exchanged with Dorian and Cullen and frowned. Clearly, whatever Garrett was about to say, he’d discussed it with Dorian and Cullen first.

“We did come up with an idea, of sorts,” Garrett continued. “To engender goodwill in the community and build capital.”

Carver snorted. “Have a party to raise money, you mean.”

“Y-yes,” Garrett acknowledged. “Wanted to bring it up later, but since we’re talking about it… we were thinking about a Chowderfest, but with a twist. A farm-and-sea-to-table kind of thing.”

“Ooh, sounds intriguing,” Felix said. “What’s the twist?” 

Carver didn’t like how Garrett was dragging it out; it usually meant he wanted Carver to do something. Garrett warmed to his subject. “Usually for these kinds of contests, people just make whatever, from their own recipes, right? Well we were thinking, let’s make it more challenging. What if we limited the contestants to local-only ingredients? Blackwall could catch the fish, and --”

“I could grow the vegetables,” Carver sighed. His stomach sank.

“That’s an amazing idea!” Felix beamed. “Like Chopped! Oh, that’s going to be so much fun,” he raved.

“Chop-derfest was actually on the table for names,” Garrett admitted. “We haven’t decided. And we’d pay you for the produce, obviously,” he added hurriedly, seeing the distinct lack of enthusiasm on Carver’s face. “Er, wholesale, at least.”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Dorian said. “Varric throws a luau every year anyway. Might as well change it up a bit.”

The others continued to chatter about the event. The whole thing felt off to Carver, though he couldn’t put his finger on why. He felt his face was all wrong, and Felix kept shooting him concerned looks, but he couldn’t snap out of it. 

“What do you think, brother?” Garrett asked after a few minutes. “Can’t do it without you, after all.”

“It’s… yeah. Good idea,” he mumbled and nodded, hoping he looked thoughtful and not as sour as he felt. “Varric loves organizing parties.”

“Er, I thought… I might organize it, actually,” Garrett said. He finished his beer and set the empty bottle on the table.

“From Kirkwall?” Carver raised his eyebrows. “Surprised Varric would be willing to shell out for it. That’s a lot of mileage.”

“I told him I’d volunteer. And, well, I’ll probably be spending a lot more time here, actually.” 

Dorian and Cullen were fighting back smiles. Carver looked around the table. “You’re… what? Moving here?”

“That’s wonderful!” Felix said. He looked so pleased that Carver felt even worse about the roiling mess of discomfort in his stomach.

“Not full time,” Garrett hedged. “Not at first. But the firm I work for does offer employees the option to work remotely, so I’ll put in a request and see what happens.”

“That’s… wow, that’s great,” Carver managed. He was miserable. What the hell was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he be happy for Garrett? 

_ Why can’t I have anything for myself, ever?  _ He tried to squash the little voice shouting at him from someplace mean and childish within him. 

“Well, this calls for a celebration,” Felix said, standing up. “Carver, come, give me a hand, I have just the thing.”

Carver followed him into the kitchen, trying and failing to will himself into a happier mood. 

“Are you okay?” Felix murmured. 

“What? Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Carver turned the corners of his mouth up and showed his teeth, hoping it looked like a smile. 

Felix looked skeptical. “You sure? Is there anything I can do?” He opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of champagne. 

“I’m just tired,” Carver lied. “It’s making me grumpy.”

“We’ll do dessert, and hopefully have an early night,” Felix said, putting the bottle on the counter and opening a cupboard. He pulled down a box of graham crackers, a couple bars of chocolate, and a bag of marshmallows. “And anyway. No one can stay grumpy and eat s’mores,” he grinned. “It’s just science.”

It turned out, Felix was wrong. Carver couldn’t shake his peevishness, but it was easier to hide once they moved outside. It was dark, for one thing. And the contents of the champagne bottle had the rest of them laughing and smiling, so Carver just had to lay low and keep his mouth shut. If over dinner Carver had seen all of the ways Garrett didn’t yet fit in, now he could see how well he did. Hell, it was only his second trip to visit, and already he was thinking about moving in with Dorian and Cullen. 

And it was easy to see why; they clearly all adored each other. Garrett was perfectly poised between their personalities, bridging Dorian’s ribald humor and Cullen’s salt-of-the-earth Ferelden common sense. Carver was, underneath it all, happy for his brother. He just wished Garrett could be happy somewhere else.

By ten o’clock, he had sobered up and was even more miserable. It was getting harder to pretend to smile when someone’s attention landed on him. Carver lurched to his feet and feigned a yawn. “I think I gotta hit the hay,” he said. 

“You’re so wholesome,” Garrett grinned, blinking owlishly. “Look at my li’l brother, all grown up. With chickens. Wee li’l chickens.”

It was all Carver could do not to snap at him. He was certain that, to the others, it sounded merely like brotherly affection. Carver wasn’t so sure. Garrett had a way of making compliments land like an insult, and sometimes it was hard to tell which was which, especially since he’d been drinking. 

Felix got up as well. “Are you leaving?” He couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice. “I’ll walk you to your truck.”

The others snickered at that. Carver ignored them. “Yeah, ok.”

It was silly; the truck was only a couple dozen yards down the alley, in full view of everyone. Carver knew he was being a dick, but he felt so rotten that he couldn’t see his way out of it.

“I was hoping they’d have left by now,” Felix said, once they got to the truck. “And that we could have some time together.”

Carver sighed. Felix was too nice to admit he was hoping Carver would stay. And a part of Carver wanted to stay, to make Felix happy, but he also knew that he was in a foul mood. And Felix didn’t deserve to be exposed to that. Carver felt like he was caught in a feedback loop; he could tell he was in a bad mood, which just made his bad mood worse. “Yeah, I guess I’m… I probably should go.”

Even in the dim glow of the streetlamp, Carver could see the hurt flicker across Felix’s face. “Oh. Okay, right,” he murmured, nodding and smiling weakly. 

Carver pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. I’m being a jerk.”

“You’re not,” Felix objected. “It’s late. I know you have things to do in the morning.”

“Yeah,” Carver nodded. It wasn’t much of an excuse; there was no reason he couldn’t go lay down in Felix’s room until everyone cleared out. 

“Guess I shouldn’t have broken out the champagne,” Felix said. “Maybe I’ll see you soon, though?”

“Of course,” Carver said, and for the first time in hours, he managed half a smile. He leaned down to give Felix a kiss. It was incredibly brief, interrupted by hooting from the onlookers from the porch. 

“Jerks,” Felix whispered, laughing. “Sleep well.”

Carver tried; he really did. But once he’d gotten home and in bed, he couldn’t sleep. Fucking Garrett. It was infuriating enough that he could just waltz into town and land in a relationship, and an apparently serious one at that. But for him to just… god, he was like some fucking cowboy sheriff, riding in on a fucking white horse to save the town. The chowderfest was a great idea, and he was going to do a fabulous job organizing it, and then he’d be a big fucking hero.

Carver rolled over, punching his pillow. Dammit, this was supposed to be  _ his  _ town.  _ His  _ home. It was hard enough to shake Amell’s legacy, which seemed to follow Carver around like a fucking ghost, and now  _ this.  _

And the worst part was, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Even if Felix hadn’t clearly loved the idea, the chowderfest was the right thing for the town, and Carver wasn’t going to get in the way of that. And in a few months, Garrett would charm practically everyone, and Carver would go back to being the Little Brother again. 

No wonder Varric called him Junior. It was all he’d ever be.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Bantam chickens!](https://www.google.com/search?q=bantam+breeds&sa=X&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&ved=0ahUKEwjwz8uU5vLTAhUU4mMKHYj4AtgQsAQIgAE&biw=1280&bih=904) [Playhouse coops!](http://www.communitychickens.com/cool-coops-the-cottage-playhouse-coop/)
> 
> Also, I'll be on vacation next week and without consistent internet (GASP) so updates may be slow. I'll try to get one out before I go, though.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver gets angry, then he gets confused. Then he gets laid.

It had to be said that Blackwall knew his fish. He’d been droning on for at least ten minutes about clams alone. Between that and the lack of sleep it was all Carver could do to keep awake.

Frowning, Garrett flicked Carver’s knee under the picnic table. Carver glared at him but straightened in his seat. It wasn’t Blackwall’s fault that Carver was so tired, and despite his reluctance to take part in the event planning, Carver didn’t want to be disrespectful. 

It was the day after Carver had found out that Garrett was moving to town, and his fitful night’s rest had done nothing to improve his mood. Garrett had insisted that Carver clear time in the afternoon to have a meeting about the Chowderfest idea before he went back to Kirkwall. Carver had no choice but to do it, or risk looking like a jerk.

So here he sat, crammed around a table in the park, trying to keep awake as Varric, Oghren, and Garrett nodded at Blackwall, discussing the merits of cherrystone versus littleneck clams, or would it perhaps be better to have a variety? And what about lobster?

“Well it all depends on what kind of produce we’ll have,” Oghren said at one point. 

Everyone turned to look at Carver. “What?” 

“What will you have available in a month, is what he wants to know,” Garrett said, as if Carver was an idiot, when in fact, he was merely not paying attention. There was a big difference.

“Oh, er. In August? Let me think.” Carver shut his eyes, running through the harvest schedule in his mind. “I’ll have kale, celery, carrots, onions, canning tomatoes, peppers, zucchini, sweet corn, new potatoes….” 

“Perfect,” Oghren said. “Person can’t make chowder from all that, they shouldn’t be making it at all.”

“Er, how much are we talking, quantity-wise?” Carver asked. It’s not like he’d planted extra for the event. Fucking Garrett and his last-minute ideas.

“Good question,” Blackwall nodded. 

The others began to discuss how many people might attend, the number of contestants, how much fish Blackwall could conceivably catch. It became clear that Carver was going to be on the hook for at least three times the amount of vegetables than what he’d normally bring to the market in a week, if not more. His whole harvest for the month, essentially. And despite Garrett’s promise that he’d get paid, wholesale prices weren’t exactly desirable. He’d been banking on August being a good month for him, earning-wise. Frantically, he tried to calculate just how much money he would be losing in his head.

Varric must’ve caught him turning pale. “You okay, Junior? Can you handle it?”

“Of course he can,” Garrett said, bright and cheery. He put his arm around Carver’s shoulders. “We Hawkes never back down from a challenge.”

Varric nodded, then his eyes widened. “Ooh, we should do a grange display, by the judging booth. Show off the finest the valley has to offer.”

_ “That _ is a  _ capital  _ idea,” Garrett nodded. “It’ll be just like old times at the fair, eh?” He elbowed Carver in the ribs.

Carver frowned. The ‘old times’ Carver remembered were about him and Bethany; Garrett was never involved. “Yeah, sure.”

The meeting ended a short while later. Carver reeled, trying to piece together how he could make this work. His whole harvest schedule was going to be thrown off, requiring him to store a lot of produce at Oghren's. Plus there was the whole ‘significant loss of income’ thing. So much for re-wiring. So much for having a proper fucking kitchen. So much for not having to drag his dirty fucking clothes to his boyfriend’s house every week. 

“Hey, Carv, hang on a second.” Garrett put a hand on Carver’s arm, holding him back.

It probably wasn’t a good sign that Carver’s first reaction was to swat his brother’s hand away. He fought the urge, barely, gritting his teeth. “What?” he snapped, his voice flat.

Garrett was looking over his shoulder as the others sauntered out of earshot, chatting among themselves. “Testy, aren’t we?” he said mildly. 

“What do you want, Garrett? Hang on, let me call someone over, so that when you ask I won’t be able to say no without looking like a prick.”

That got his attention. Garrett whirled around. “What are you talking about?”

Carver snorted. “Don’t play dumb with me. You’ve been pulling that move since I was a child.”

“I did no such thing,” Garrett objected. “I wanted to ask you privately, but I didn’t get a chance. Anyway, I’m doing this for you --”

“Oh please.” Carver didn’t let him finish the excuse. “Don’t give me that bullshit. You’re doing this for  _ you,  _ so that you look good for your loverboys. ‘ _ Oh Garrett, thank you for saving our town. How did we ever manage without you?’ _ ” It was childish to say it, even more so to sing-song it in a high-pitched voice, but Carver was beyond caring.

Garrett frowned. “Is that what you think? Because I seem to be under the impression that your little farm is going to have a guaranteed market for pretty much everything you’re selling.”

“Yeah, wholesale, _ maybe,  _ which, might I add, is only promises at this point. Remind me why I should be excited to risk most of a month’s retail profits for this little venture, hmm?”

Garrett laughed skeptically. “If I have to explain the concept of marketing to you, I’m not sure you should be calling yourself a businessman.” 

It was only the presence of Varric and the others loitering by the community building that kept Carver from punching Garrett in the face. As it was, he clenched his fists at his sides. “This was supposed to be  _ mine, _ Garrett.  _ My  _ farm,  _ my  _ bloody hard work,  _ my success.  _ Not yours. I didn’t ask for your help, and I don’t fucking need it. So you can stop pretending you’re doing this for anyone but yourself, because all you’ve done,  _ ever,  _ is make my life harder.”

Carver spun away, not waiting for Garrett to respond. He gave a tight nod to the others as he passed, then kept walking. Carver checked his phone -- it was just after 4:00. Felix had texted that he could stop by after the meeting; it being Sunday, they could have an early supper, maybe go for a walk. But Carver was all angry and frustrated. Probably not the best of company, if he ever was. 

So he kept walking, out of the park, then north along the river. He didn’t have a destination in mind, aside from  _ away from Garrett.  _ After a few minutes his anger had diminished from “rage” to “seething”, and even that was draining away. 

He reached the lake. There was a smaller footpath along the shore under the trees, and Carver followed it. After a few twists and turns, the path stopped abruptly at a little clearing by a rock outcropping. It was pretty secluded, with a great view of the water, and would’ve been a nice place to stop for a few minutes except for the fact that Fenris was there.

The man was staring out at the water, idly smoking a cigarette. He looked at Carver and away, which was about as close as he got to a greeting. 

It would’ve been weird to just turn around and leave, so Carver stepped into the clearing. “Nice spot,” he said after a moment. 

Fenris grunted in agreement. “Hear your brother’s in town,” he said after a moment.

Carver picked up a rock and chucked it at the water with a little more force than necessary. “Can’t keep him away,” he said. 

Fenris chuckled cynically. 

“Do you have siblings?” Carver asked.

The pause that ensued was heavy. “A sister,” Fenris said finally.

Carver nodded, squinting at the water. He didn’t press for more information; no one with a healthy familial relationship waits that long to answer such a simple question. “You playing Wicked Grace tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” came the reply. “Depends on who else will be there.”

Carver nodded as if he knew what Fenris was talking about while he tried to muddle through what that meant. Was Fenris feuding with someone? He wasn’t very friendly, true, but Carver hadn’t heard any gossip that suggested there was open animosity, unless.… “What, you mean Anders? What’s the deal with you two, anyway?” Carver blurted without thinking.

Fenris turned to look at him, holding his gaze as he ground out the cigarette under his shoe. He wrapped the butt in a scrap of paper and put it in his pocket. “I’d rather talk about my sister,” he said finally, with a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Maker, sorry. None of my business,” Carver said, shaking his head. 

Fenris nodded slightly, though without malice, then continued to watch the water. “You’re not the first to ask,” he said. “Game night is meant for just friends.”

Well, there was his answer, Carver supposed. Clearly, whatever was going on, Anders was no longer “just friends” with Fenris. “In that case, I hope he does show up,” Caver said, chucking another stone on the water. “He’s the only person I can ever beat.”

Fenris chuckled again and smiled to himself. “He is not a subtle man.” 

Carver snorted. “True enough. Anyway, have a good one.” Carver headed out of the clearing. He spent most of the walk to Felix’s house wondering about Fenris and Anders, which, while not exactly his business, was at least less infuriating than thinking about his brother.

Felix answered the door as he always did, with a huge, grateful smile. “How did it go?”

Carver shrugged and grunted noncommittally, following Felix into the kitchen. “Fine? Aside from the fact I have to donate almost three weeks’ of produce so that my brother can play hero --” Carver cut himself off, sighing bitterly. “Sorry. I… didn’t get much sleep.”

“It’s alright,” Felix said. “Can I get you anything? Water? Iced tea?”

“Iced tea would be great.”

“So this is going to be a big event, then.” Felix poured tea for both of them and handed Carver a glass.

“Garrett doesn’t go for halfway measures.” Carver took a deep drink; it was so cold the roof of his mouth began to ache. “He’s great at getting people to do all the hard work for him, too.”

“That sounds dangerous for you,” Felix said. “Especially if he’s going to move here.”

“Yeah.” Carver gulped down the rest of his tea. 

Felix put a pan on the stove and set it to heat. “You seemed less than thrilled about it last night.” He began pulling ingredients from the fridge.

“It’s fine. He’s a grown man, he can do what he wants.” It wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement, but it was the best Carver could manage.

“Would it help to talk about it?” Felix asked the question with no implied judgement, continuing to cook dinner.

Carver wasn’t a big fan of talking about his problems. Too close to whining, in his opinion. Plus what good would it do? “You don’t want to hear me complain about my brother,” Carver said. 

Felix set down his spatula and walked over. He gently pulled the napkin Carver was twisting out of his hands and held them. “I always want to hear whatever you have to say to me.” He kissed Carver’s fingertips with a smile, then went back to the stove. 

Blinking in astonishment, Carver just sat there a minute, trying to get a handle on what that meant. People didn’t date Carver to listen to him talk. He was never quite sure why anyone dated him at all, but of all possible reasons, his conversation was near the bottom of the list. “I dunno, I say some pretty dumb crap,” Carver mumbled. 

Felix smiled at the saucepan. “You don’t  _ have _ to talk about it,” he said. “Sometimes it helps.” He pushed the vegetables to the side of the pan and added some shrimp.

“It’s just….” Carver inhaled, trying to put it into words: his unjustified anger at Garrett, his frustration with being broke all the time, how he wanted so much that he couldn’t have, how most of the time he felt like he was in one of those dreams where you try to scream and no sound comes out. He held his breath for a second, then let it out in a whoosh. “Frustrating,” he finished, shaking his head again. 

Felix scraped the contents of the pan onto two plates, bringing them over to the kitchen island. “It sounds it,” he nodded, no longer smiling. He sat on the stool next to Carver. “I don’t have a brother, but I know how hard it was for me when Dorian moved to town. Just breezed right in and got married, like it was nothing.” Felix pushed the food around his plate. “Meanwhile I was bending over backwards in my own relationship, trying to make someone love me even a fraction as much as Cullen loves Dorian. It seemed dreadfully unfair.” He shook his head. “Not that I would ever admit that to Dorian, of course. It wasn’t his fault Livius was… how he was.” 

It had never occurred to Carver that there were parallels between Garrett and Dorian, though now it seemed blindingly obvious. Though his anger at Garrett had faded, Carver found he was furious all over again, at that Livius guy. How dare he treat Felix that way? Ungrateful bastard. And then Carver thought,  **_I_ ** _ love you that much.  _

It took a second for the thought to register. Just like that, Carver knew it was true. It was the same surety he’d had when he first visited the farm, the sense of inevitability, that things were always meant to be this way. Carver didn’t blurt it out, thank the Maker. Instead he said “oh” and then began to nod while his brain tried on this new reality for size. He was in love with Felix. Holy shit. Carver was in love. 

Suddenly he realized he was supposed to be having a conversation. The problem was, he was so focused on not letting this huge realization slip out before he’d had a chance to think about it (god, he  _ loved  _ Felix), that Carver’s brain instead panicked and picked the next thing on the list of Things Better Left Unsaid. “I’m worried everyone’s going to like him more than me. Garrett, I mean. They will; you met him, you know how he is. And I’m just all broke and pathetic and if you’d met him before me --” He finally realized what he was saying and shut the hell up, grabbing his iced tea and gulping it.

Felix was staring at him, aghast. 

Of course he was; Carver was an idiot. “Sorry,” Carver muttered. “Forget I said anything.”

“Carver.” Felix put a hand on his arm. “If I met him before you, I’d still… want you,” he finished, after a pause. 

Carver wondered what Felix had wanted to say instead. He hung his head, staring at his plate without really seeing it.  _ Probably not what you were hoping he’d say.  _

Felix went on. “Garrett is very charming, and he’s funny, I’ll admit it. But you… you’re like one of the knights I used to read about as a boy. I love that you’re quiet and stalwart and brave. I love that you’ve been through so much, and you’re hell-bent on finding your own way. I love how strong that’s made you, in so many ways. And I love….” He stopped, his voice catching. “I love a lot of things about you, is what I’m saying.” It was his turn to grope for his glass, hastily taking a sip.

Carver’s heart had stalled out several times and was now pounding. It was the pauses, the things Felix wasn’t saying. Maybe Felix was trying to avoid saying things a certain way, because he didn’t want to get Carver’s hopes up. Carver had done that himself, plenty of times, avoided coming out and saying  _ I love you _ to Anora because you shouldn’t lie about that stuff, even when your girlfriend really wants to hear it. 

But maybe… maybe…. 

Before Carver could form the thought  _ maybe he loves me,  _ Felix went on. “Anyway. I know you don’t like to talk about family things, but… I knew about you and your brother long before I met you in person. Your grandfather talked about you all the time. And it was you I wanted to meet, not Garrett. I think you might, well, not  _ enjoy _ reading Amell’s journals, but it might make you feel… I don’t know. More comfortable.”

“What?” Carver was slow to follow the shift in conversation. 

“I know it’s a sensitive subject,” Felix said defensively. “You certainly don’t have to. And maybe I’m wrong, maybe he never wrote down the kinds of things he told me, I don’t know.” 

“Oh, um.” The change in topic left Carver almost queasy from emotional whiplash. “Maybe I will.”

Felix smiled in relief. After that, he went back to chatting lightly about village gossip. Carver did his best to pay attention, interjecting with  _ yeahs  _ and  _ uh-huhs  _ as needed, all the while wondering what to do about his feelings. 

Was it too soon for him to tell Felix he loved him? Maybe? Probably. Yeah, it totally was. He’d only met Felix a few months ago. Way too soon. And also Felix probably didn’t feel that way for him. Not that Carver thought Felix didn’t  _ care, _ but it seemed much more plausible that Felix was merely very fond of Carver, despite all the wonderful things he’d just said. That was just to cheer him up, right? Yeah. Yeah, must’ve been. Carver wasn’t even sure what stalwart meant; it sounded like part of a castle. Or was that a bulwark?

By the time dinner was over, Carver had come to terms with it. Even if Felix didn’t love him, he clearly  _ liked _ him, and that was more than Carver deserved. Carver just had to keep it together, not get weird or anything. Maybe someday Felix would grow to love him? At the very least, Carver knew he’d never run off and start a secret family or anything like that. He could treat Felix the way he deserved to be treated. Even if he was dirt poor, he could try to make Felix happy. 

Not that he hadn’t been trying before, of course. Still, he insisted on cleaning up the kitchen, making Felix sit with a glass of wine. “Do you think you can stay for a bit?” Felix asked as he was finishing up.

_ Stay for a bit  _ had become code for sex, more or less. “I can, yeah,” Carver said, hanging the dishtowel on the oven door handle. “If you want me to.”

Felix looked like he was going to say something, but then he just smiled and drained his wine. “I’d like that.”

It was still awkward, getting into the actual bedroom. After the initial rush of their first few times being intimate, the act of moving the proceedings to a bed had become oddly shy and stilted. And somehow that had failed to wear off, to the point where it had become kind of funny, how deliberate it all was. 

This time, it seemed less amusing to Carver when Felix abruptly stood. “Well, I’ll just… head in, then.” He made his way to the bedroom, laughing gently as he did so. 

Carver had never given Felix’s ex a moment’s thought before, but now he wondered,  _ was it weird like this for Livius?  _ Maybe he’d swept Felix off his feet, made love to him in every room, had him on the couch and in the kitchen and up against every doorway because  _ Felix loved him and he doesn’t love you, does he? _

Wincing, Carver tried to banish the thought. Felix was sitting on the bed, unbuttoning his shirt. “What’s wrong?” he asked immediately, seeing Carver’s face.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Carver tried for a smile.

“We don’t have to,” Felix said slowly. “If you’d rather not.”

“God, no, I want to.” He knelt before Felix, running his hands up and down Felix’s thighs. “So bad. Really.”

“Alright,” Felix said. “You sure nothing’s the matter?”

Carver opened his mouth.  _ Don’t say it you idiot.  _ He blinked a few times, struggling to come up with something else, when an idea hit him which was about as brilliant as his ideas got. “I thought -- maybe I, I mean you --” He huffed and started again. “Maybe you could top?”

They’d had penetrative sex twice, and Carver had topped both times. Which he loved, no question. But Carver had only bottomed a few times in his life, and he really wanted to share that with Felix. More so now, because he was relatively sure Livius had never done that for Felix, and dammit why was he still thinking about that?

“Really?” Felix seemed taken aback. “I mean. I  _ can,”  _ he laughed. “I just… didn’t think you wanted that.”

“I do,” Carver said in a rush. “If you want to.”

Felix ran a hand down Carver’s hairline, his touch gentle. “Alright.” He leaned forward and kissed Carver, slow and deep.

It didn’t take long for them both to start breathing heavy. They broke the kiss to shed their clothes. It was subtle, but Felix’s demeanor changed, becoming more reserved, telling Carver how to lay on the bed (on his side, one leg bent), asking how long it had been since he’d done this (a long time), whether he regularly used toys to masturbate (no but maybe he should start?). With a shiver, Carver realized it was not unlike Felix’s professional persona, which was strangely hot. 

It got hotter once Felix was laying behind him, nuzzling at the nape of Carver’s neck while he massaged lube at his entrance. “How’s that?”

“Good,” Carver whispered, breath catching as Felix pressed the tip of his finger in.  _ “Oh.  _ Good,” he said again, hips shifting.

Felix made an encouraging sound and pressed further. Carver groaned as Felix found his prostate, then fought the urge to laugh. He lost the battle, snickering into the pillow even as he gasped when Felix’s finger withdrew.

“What is it?” Felix asked, voice full of mirth. 

“I dunno, something about prostate exams. Ignore me,” Carver said, reaching back to pull Felix’s hand closer.

Felix laughed too. “Shall I get my lab coat?”

Carver snorted, even as his cock sat up and took notice. “Next time, maybe.” He stopped laughing when Felix went back to fingering him open. He was just gentle enough that it never felt like too much, but he wasn’t so gentle that Carver got bored or impatient. Plus he knew just when to tease with those brushes against Carver’s prostate, making him jerk and moan. 

“I’ve got three fingers in you,” Felix said after about five minutes. Something about how he said it, a little clinical, but yet tinged with his own lust, made Carver groan. “Do you think that’s enough?” He moved his fingers in a slow, twisting thrust.

God, it was the hottest thing Carver had ever heard. “I-- what do you think?”

“Mmm, it all depends on you,” Felix said, in a tone that made it clear that he was really in charge. “Four is more than you need, but you’ll feel it if I take you now.” He hadn’t stopped pushing in and out of Carver’s entrance. 

Carver whined. “I -- I want what you want,” he panted, trying to buck backwards against Felix.

“Well I certainly don’t want to  _ hurt _ you,” Felix said calmly, and although Carver had never in his life considered anything along those lines, he suddenly saw the appeal. Felix continued, “But seeing you like this is making it hard to wait.” He rolled to his side, letting his cock rub against Carver’s inner thigh and biting none-too-gently at the nape of his neck.

“Oh god,” Carver gasped. “Please.”

Another nip at Carver’s neck, and Felix was rolling away. “On your stomach,” he murmured, even as Carver heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper. 

Carver eagerly did as he was told, surreptitiously tugging at his own leaking cock a few times before settling into position. He felt Felix pour a little more lube on him, and then a moment later the blunt tip of his cock. “Ready?”

Carver was already nodding. “Ye- _ ohhhhhhh,” _ he moaned. Felix’s cock felt huge, stretching him painfully. 

“Breathe,” Felix said, his voice still calm. “And relax. Try to pretend you’re floating in water.” 

Carver took a shaky breath, willing his limbs to relax. 

The sound of Felix’s gratified sigh above him helped. “Ohhh, that’s good. My god, it’s good.” He continued to press himself into Carver, and then he hit the spot.

Carver yelped, jerking against the bed, trying not to tense up. Felix was already withdrawing, and for a second Carver thought he was pulling out altogether, but then he thrust in again. This time it was easier, the stretch more of an ache, and the pleasure more evident.

After three or four strokes, Felix shifted, laying so he was on top of Carver, curled around him almost. He picked up his pace, though it was still slow, almost lazy, while he continued to nip and mouth along Carver’s shoulders. “You feel amazing,” he murmured, brushing his lips along the shell of Carver’s ear.

The sensation catapulted Carver into another dimension of pleasure. He whined, voice breaking, as he squirmed under Felix.

“You like that?” Felix did it again, this time using his teeth. 

“Fuck,” Carver moaned, nodding fast. He wanted to grind his cock against the mattress, but he risked throwing off Felix’s rhythm, so he held back. 

Felix started tormenting Carver’s ears with his mouth and his hands, tickling and nibbling and just  _ breathing,  _ until Carver was whimpering nonstop against the onslaught. In combination, it was overwhelming: he felt full and aching and ticklish and vulnerable, while the actual gratification of his cock was lowest on the list. He wanted -- needed -- more, though he wasn’t sure how he could possibly stand to have more of any of those things, not without coming apart.

He got more, though not in the way he was expecting. Felix started to get carried away, thrusting faster and harder, an insistent snap to his hips, panting breaths becoming grunts. Carver squirmed again, this time to snake a hand underneath his body to grip his cock. There was no leverage, and the precum wasn’t enough lubrication to overcome the friction, but he didn’t care. 

After teetering on the edge for what felt like a long time, Carver came. He’d never had an orgasm while someone was fucking him, and was unprepared for how different it was, how long it lasted. He shouted into the pillow, unable to control his voice, even as he heard Felix moan his own climax.

As the aftershocks shuddered through him, Felix shakily climbed off of him. Carver lay there like a slug, too wrung out to move, as Felix padded into the bathroom to clean up. 

He came back a minute or so later and laughed gently. “Are you okay, love?”

“Unhhhhh,” Carver whimpered. He started to push himself up, then abandoned the effort and collapsed back down. 

Felix lay next to him, rubbing his back. “Is that a good thing or not?”

“Good,” Carver managed, peeking one eye open. He flopped his arm out, trying to pull Felix closer. 

Felix obliged, wriggling closer to Carver. He sighed contentedly. “I have no idea what brought that on, but I hope you’re as satisfied as I am. We should do that again.” 

“Mmmm,” Carver hummed his agreement. He tried to say something about how much he loved it, how he  _ definitely  _ hoped they’d do it again, but what came out was, “Love you.”

Immediately, Felix tensed. Carver groaned, this time in frustration. “Shit. I mean. Fuck,” he sighed, burying his face in the pillow. 

Felix laughed nervously. “It’s fine,” he whispered. “I know what you meant.”

Carver might’ve been exhausted, but he could hear the disappointment in Felix’s voice, and his heart started thumping again. This time, he was too love drunk to talk himself out of saying it. “No, no,” he said, “I do. I mean, I mean it.” He pushed up to his elbows. “I love you.”

The look on Felix’s face almost broke Carver’s heart. Wide-eyed, he stared at Carver like… well, like he felt the same way. “I love you too,” he whispered. “God, I almost said it so many times today, but I thought --”

Carver started to laugh. “Me too,” he said. “Then I thought, well, maybe you didn’t feel the same, and I wanted to, I don’t know. Show you what you mean to me.”

Felix laughed, flopping over onto his back. “Well that’s certainly one way to do it.”

Carver went to say something else, but he flinched as he shifted his hips. “Er, I made a bit of a mess,” he apologized. 

“I should hope so,” Felix said, raising one eyebrow. “Otherwise that was an awful lot of work for nothing.”

Carver was shooed into the bathroom to wash up while Felix changed the blanket. When Carver came back in the bedroom, Felix had put on a t-shirt and some pajama shorts. Normally, this would be where Carver left. Sleeping in the same bed was a nice idea, but with Carver having to get up so early, it often made more sense for him to just go home. 

He really, really didn’t want to leave, though. Not after… well, any of it. All of it. “So, I don’t suppose….” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Is there a way to invite myself to stay that doesn’t look rude?”

“No, because I was just about to ask,” Felix said. 

Carver clambered into bed and got under the sheet. It was too hot to cuddle properly; Felix lay next to him with one hand across Carver’s chest. Carver slid his own hand on top and laced their fingers together. “I love you.” It was easier, this time, but no less wonderful.

“I love you too,” Felix whispered, smiling.

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver finally reads Amell's papers. Felix has a few surprises of his own.

Carver wasn’t exactly chomping at the bit to take Felix’s advice to read through Amell’s personal papers. It was like his refusal to eat asparagus as a kid -- more rooted in a desire to express his own autonomy than out of any valid objections. Carver was a stubborn little shit, and he knew it; he could dig his heels in stronger than a mule.

But at the same time, he knew that Felix wanted nothing but the best for him, and there must be something in Amell’s journals that Felix thought he should know. The doctor wasn’t motivated by a desire to get Carver to follow his wishes just for the sake of it, and neither did he wheedle or cajole. Which made Carver’s reluctance feel even more immature, to the point he could no longer ignore the feeling that he was being petty.

So on the next rainy day, after his morning chores, he hauled the box of letters and photos down from the attic. He didn’t open it right away, instead making himself some coffee and a cheese sandwich, dragging out the process as long as possible. Finally, he sat, and with a sigh, lifted the lid.

It was hard to know where to start. There were a lot of loose photos, almost none of which meant anything to him, as well as things like theater programs and old receipts. A picture of a middle-aged Amell on the porch did catch his eye. The date on the back was from 1997, with the caption “First Day”. Must’ve been right after his divorce, then. He wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t look angry or upset, either. Carver set it aside. 

At the bottom of the box there were two bundles of letters, each tied with string. Carver recognized his mother’s handwriting from the smaller packet. He tugged the string loose and read the letter on the top.

It was from December, 1981. His mother was writing to let Amell know she was pregnant with Garrett. Carver only skimmed the words. It was difficult to read -- his mother was trying to get Amell to write back, to make amends. She missed her father; she wanted her son to know him. 

The next few letters were updates about Garrett, with additional requests for Amell to respond. She’d sent photos, which had been left in the envelopes, not scattered loose with the rest. Then there were letters about Carver and Bethany, with more photos and the occasional newspaper clipping. As time went on they became shorter and shorter, till at the end they were just greeting cards. The last in the stack was a proper letter, from 1996.

“This is the last I will write to you,” it began. “My husband is dead.” Carver read this one carefully. He wasn’t one to weep, but his eyes prickled. The letter was full of anger and grief. Most of the anger was directed at Amell, though Leandra left some for herself for bothering to reach out for so many years, despite never hearing back. She wrote about how she had given up on hope, that it was nothing but a crutch and she’d be stronger without it. 

The last page was all about the children, since, as Leandra had said, “you show no interest in knowing them.” She described each of them, their personalities and strengths, pouring out all of the goodness she saw in them on the page, in a way she’d never told them in person. At that, Carver did cry, not knowing exactly why. Maybe from reading the way she talked about Bethany, or from secondhand grief, or just from knowing what his mother saw in him -- loyal and true, she’d said, which didn’t really mean much. But she also said Carver “grow into the kind of man you’d want by your side, someone you could count on, dependable and honest and hardworking.”

After that, he needed a second. Carver blew his nose and refreshed his coffee. He made a second sandwich, too, while he was at it.

The second stack of letters were addressed to Leandra, from Amell. “Wait, that can’t be right,” Carver muttered. “Shouldn’t mother have these?” He looked at the top envelope more closely. 

There was no postmark. Amell had written the letter, but never sent it.

The first letter was also dated December 1981. Carver skimmed it. His stomach dropped as he did. It was a response to Leandra’s first letter, full of pride and happiness, joy even, at the news that she was pregnant. Amell said he hoped his wife would agree to put aside her “issues” with Malcolm and Leandra so they could meet the baby. 

“Why the bloody hell didn’t he send this?” Carver said aloud. It would have solved so much. 

Lady came over and put her chin on his knee. Carver petted her absently as he reached for the second letter.

This was just after Garrett was born. Amell was still bursting with pride and joy, but it was tempered by frustration; his wife had apparently not reacted well to his suggestion that they reconcile. Amell apologized for not sending the first letter, saying that he’d put it off, not wanting to risk having his wife find it in the mailbox. He was still hopeful that he could change her mind, though; he just needed time.

As Carver got further in the stack, Amell’s responses became more and more hopeless. They started reading less like letters and more like diary entries, more personal and rambling, about how much he missed Leandra, his dissatisfaction with his life, his frustrations with his wife. 

The tone became more bleak. Amell never came out and said his wife was abusive, but it sure as hell seemed like it to Carver. He continually blamed himself for his inability to leave, to stand up to her, to do something as simple as post a letter to his daughter. Carver wasn’t very sympathetic at first, but gradually he came to feel sorry for the man. Amell didn’t seem familiar with the idea of gaslighting, but his wife was clearly a pro. 

The second-to-last letter was written after Malcolm had died. Apparently it was something of a straw that broke the camel’s back; Amell talked about making plans to leave, to make a clean break from everything. 

“I want to find a place to start again,” he wrote. “A place you’d be proud to bring the children. I was thinking a farm. Something wholesome and real, where I can leave behind all my weakness and failings and become someone new. To be the father you deserve, and the grandfather the children deserve. I love them so much, you know that? Even though I’ve never met them. I feel as though I know them, from your letters. Garrett reminds me of my own brother, clever and charming and resourceful. And funny! I still laugh, thinking about his antics. Dear little Bethany -- so strong and so talented! You were like that as a child. I imagine -- I hope -- that you still are. And Carver. Quiet and headstrong and competent. The photo of him with his 4H medals and the prize zucchini is one of my favorites. He’d like a farm, I think, a proper Ferelden life, getting his fingers in the dirt with a mabari at his side. 

I’m going to do it, Leandra. I let her take too much from me, but no longer. I must be strong. I must. I only hope that you’ll forgive me for being so weak for so long.”

Carver set the letter down and blew his nose again. The final letter was not, in fact, a letter at all; it was a large, folded envelope, the kind used for books or packets of paper. It was addressed to Leandra, from Amell, with a return address at the farm. The words “RETURN TO SENDER” were written on it in heavy, careful letters.

So he  _ had  _ tried to send the letters, then, once he’d left. And Carver’s mother had refused them. Carver blew air out from his lips. Well. He could hardly blame her. 

Still, it was easy to see why Felix thought reading through the papers might make Carver feel better. Amell had left him the farm not because he thought Carver was less deserving than Garrett, but because he genuinely hoped Carver would take over. In a roundabout way, Carver was proud that Amell had seen Carver as worthy of the farm, which clearly meant a lot to the old man.

Lady snuffled at his knee, wagging her tail slowly when Carver turned his attention to her. 

“Lady, your dad’s family is all kinds of messed up,” Carver said, scritching her behind the ears. 

She boofed and fetched a ragged tennis ball from her bed in the corner. Carver glanced out the window; the rain had let up, though the sky was still dark grey. “Yeah, okay. We can go play.”

It was hard to be melancholy when faced with the utter, condensed joy that is dog + ball. Still, Carver was subdued for the rest of the afternoon. Once they were done playing fetch, Carver swept the letters back into the box, not bothering to sort them. He could do that later. For now, he needed a break from thinking about family.

Finding such a break was challenging. Everything he was doing on the farm was in service of Garrett’s stupid Chowderpalooza. He’d returned to Kirkwall without speaking to Carver after they fought, instead emailing him a copy of the meeting minutes with his task highlighted. Of course, everyone else had several action items, while Carver only had one:  _ Provide sufficient quantity and diversity of produce.  _

Funny how it was that his one task looked so measly on the list, and yet he was having to put in weeks of backbreaking work to get it done. He was fairly sure Garrett had done that on purpose, obviously, just to hammer home that Carver would’ve been doing all this anyway, it was his  _ job, _ it should be  _ easy. _ He definitely shouldn’t be complaining about it. 

By the time Felix came over for dinner, Carver was seething again, and the skies had opened up once more. He swallowed his anger down best he could, helping Felix carry in the groceries before they both got soaked in the rain.

“I thought I was going to float down the road,” Felix said, laughing as he shook the raindrops from his jacket. He stooped to pet Lady. 

“That bad?” Carver began unpacking the contents of the bags on the kitchen table. The box of letters was still sitting out, so he stowed it on the bottom shelf of his nightstand.

Felix watched him, his smile fading. “Oh, did you… did you read his journals, then?” He obviously recognized the box. 

Carver sighed. “Yeah. Been a real fun time out here today, right Lady?”

Lady barked and fetched her ball, rolling the sodden, fibrous mass at Felix’s feet. 

“Oh, um.” Felix grimaced even as he laughed. “I think I have something you’ll like even more,” he said, carefully sidestepping the ball and rummaging through one of the bags. “Dried pig ear. Cassandra said these are great for dogs.” He pulled out a bundle wrapped in butcher paper. “Frankly I think it’s rather disgusting, but in some cultures they’re a delicacy, so who am I to judge?” 

Lady was craning her neck to see what he was doing, her nose twitching. Felix held out the treat. “Here you -- oh, wait, can she have this?” he asked Carver at the last second.

“Oh sure,” Carver nodded. “Er, we’re not having pig’s ears, are we?”

Felix grinned. “Pork chops,” he clarified. “I just need to sear them.”

It was comforting and familiar, having Felix “cook” their meal. Carver sat at the table and did what he was asked, which in this case was nothing. Carver had insisted that he didn’t expect Felix to do this for him, but the man seemed to enjoy it. 

And it was hard to turn down Felix’s cooking. Felix slid a plate in front of him, with two pork chops, a veritable mountain of rice pilaf, and greens wilted in some kind of pan sauce. “Sorry there’s no applesauce. I can’t bring myself to buy it.”

“There’ll be apples soon enough,” Carver said. “I’ll be making plenty, don’t worry.”

“I look forward to it. Amell used to make pie filling in jars. Everyone in town would buy it, and then joke about how we were all basically eating the same pie.” Felix smiled at the memory, then glanced at Carver. “Maybe you don’t want to talk about that, though.”

“No, it’s fine,” Carver sighed, pushing the greens around his plate. “Just depressing. It was a bunch of letters he wrote to my mom, but he never sent them until it was too late.”

Felix nodded. “But they did reconcile, right? Before the end?”

Carver shrugged. “I mean, I guess? He just kind of showed up at Bethany’s funeral. I don’t know if he told mother he was going to go or not. I wouldn’t be surprised if she knew and just didn’t tell us.”

“Mmm,” Felix nodded thoughtfully. 

“I mean, you knew him pretty well, right?” Carver asked. 

Felix tilted his head back and forth. “About as well as anyone else here.”

“Everyone seems to love him,” Carver said. He stopped short of asking whether Felix thought he was a good person, but only just.

“He….” Felix paused, collecting his thoughts. “If you were to ask him, he’d say he was a man with a lot to answer for,” he said. “Even if you didn’t ask him, actually. You… know about his second wife?”

“Seemed awful, what I can tell.”

“It’s difficult for men of a certain generation to admit they’re being abused,” Felix said. “There’s a stigma. He didn’t see it as domestic violence or emotional abuse. He saw it as his own weakness. She isolated him completely, till there was no one he could turn to for support. I’m sure he only told me the bare minimum of what she put him through.” Felix shuddered, sighing deeply as he pushed his empty plate to the side. “He didn’t like to talk about it, you see. He was so grateful, I think, that he had a chance to start again, and he spent his time here trying to be the very best person he could possibly be. Amell was the first to offer help if anyone needed anything. He always had treats for children and pets, remembered people’s birthdays….” Felix poured a bit more wine for himself. “Cold comfort for you, I’m sure.”

It was hard to know what to feel. Carver didn’t want to be one of those jerks who don’t think husbands can’t suffer from spousal abuse, but it was hard to be entirely sympathetic when his mother had also suffered so much. “It just… it just sucks, is all.” Carver drained his wineglass. 

“True,” Felix nodded. “He’d be thrilled to know you’re here, though.” He reached over and put his hand out, palm up. 

Carver took it. “Yeah, well,” he muttered, shrugging. “Of course all I’m doing right now is making Garrett look good.” He stood abruptly, gathering their empty dishes and dumping them in the sink.

Felix followed him, hugging him from behind. “You’re going above and beyond, and I’m proud of you.” He kissed the back of Carver’s neck, lingering as his hands drifted down Carver’s chest.

It was difficult to stay angry under those conditions. It was difficult to do anything but groan, which is what Carver did. Then he hissed when Felix palmed his dick through his shorts. “Fuck,” he breathed.

“I mean, if you insist,” Felix said, and Carver could hear that he was smiling.

They stumbled to the bed, dishes forgotten. Felix went down on his back, laughing with delight. 

“God, you’re so beautiful.” Carver could feel his grin was all lopsided and goofy, but he couldn’t help it. “I love you.” It still felt strange to say out loud. Before he’d met Felix, Carver always thought those words were too much. Now they felt like not enough.

Felix’s face softened. He reached up and brushed the hair out of Carver’s eyes. “I love you too.” Then his fingers tightened, pulling Carver down for a kiss.

It got heated, after that. Sometimes when they had sex, it was playful and lazy, full of laughing. But then there were times like this, when Felix was desperate, almost feverish with want. And what Felix seemed to want, at least some of the time, was for Carver to -- well, to be a bit rough. Maybe more than “a bit”, in fact. They’d talked about it a little, both too embarrassed to just come out and say what they wanted. Felix, for his part, insisted that he would tell Carver to stop if it was ever too much. Carver was hesitant about it though, still testing the edges. He could sense that Felix wanted more, but Carver tread carefully. 

After last time, though, when Felix had topped, Carver was starting to see the shape of it. He couldn’t stop thinking about when Felix had said, cool and professional,  _ of course I don’t want to  _ **_hurt_ ** _ you.  _ Carver had gotten himself off every night since then, thinking about it: Felix just calmly and methodically taking him apart, piece by piece, assessing Carver’s every twitch and flinch as he got more and more desperate. In some of his fantasies, Felix was using a toy on him, maybe a plug or a dildo, Carver splayed naked on an exam table while Felix remained fully dressed. In others, Felix fucked him, gently cajoling Carver to ride his cock, to get them both off by doing all the work.

It wasn’t the same thing, of course: he didn’t fantasize about Felix getting rough with him at all -- just the opposite, in fact. But he could see, now, how it felt to cede control, and he liked it. 

So now, he grabbed Felix’s wrists, pinning them above his head. Felix warbled a moan, his eyes wide and needy.

“Yeah?” Carver growled. “Like this?” He ground his hips against Felix, hard.

Felix nodded fast, his breath quick and shallow. “Yes please.”

Carver gulped. Hearing Felix say please like that did strange things to him, made his chest ache to think of him begging when he deserved the world, but made his cock jump in his shorts. “Say it again,” he demanded.

Felix whined, tightening his glutes so that he bucked up. “Please?”

“Tell me what you want,” Carver said, licking his lips. 

“I -- ngh,” Felix faltered. “I want you to -- to fuck me?”

“Yeah?” Carver asked. God, this was more difficult than he thought, talking about it. “How?”

Felix’s eyes rolled back in his head and he whined again in frustration, tugging against Carver’s grip. “Hard,” he said. “Please?”

Carver let go, rolling to the side to get the lube and condoms from the nightstand. Felix, meanwhile, scrambled to get out of his clothes. Carver did the same, shucking his t-shirt and yanking down his shorts. 

Carver knelt over Felix, watching his face as Carver massaged his fingers into his entrance. His finger slid in very easily this time, surprisingly so. 

Felix flushed, seemingly unable to look away from Carver, but embarrassed all the same. 

“Did you… do anything before you came here?” Carver asked, his surprise knocking the gruffness out of his voice. 

Felix paused, then nodded. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it,” he confessed in a whisper. 

Carver groaned, sliding a second finger easily into him. “Tell me?” It was more a question than a demand, but to be fair, he was trying.

Felix screwed his eyes shut. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you… taking me. After work I….” Even with his eyes closed, he cringed a little. “I put in a plug. While I was getting the food ready.”

“Oh,  _ fuck,”  _ Carver moaned. He pulled his hand away and fumbled with the condom, sliding it on his dick. 

Felix opened his eyes again, biting his lip as he watched Carver get ready. He gasped when Carver began pushing into him, faster than he’d ever dared before. “Oh please yes,” he whispered. “Fuck me.”

There was nothing like the noise Felix made when he was getting fucked. Halfway between a whine and a moan, with a percussive edge at the start, in time with Carver’s thrusts when the rhythm was slow, almost continuous when Carver went fast. Today he went fast, jackhammering into him, praying it was what Felix wanted. 

It seemed to be. He was practically sobbing, with the occasional  _ yes  _ and  _ please  _ interspersed in equal measure. He held his legs up, behind his knees, spreading himself wide for Carver. 

As amazing as it felt, Carver had to slow down. For one thing, the bed was rattling at an alarming pitch; it sounded like the whole thing might shake apart. And for another, even with the condom, he’d never last at this rate. 

Felix whined with disappointment when Carver pulled out to switch positions. He allowed Carver to pull him to lay sideways on the bed, Carver standing on the floor. 

“Hands over your head,” Carver said. He grabbed to lube and slicked himself up with one hand, then pushed back into Felix. He found a rhythm, slow and forceful. Once Felix was moaning in time to his thrusts, he wrapped his still-slick hand loosely around Felix’s cock.

Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t have been enough to do more than tease. But Carver was betting that Felix was closer than he seemed, especially if he’d spent all afternoon teasing himself with a plug. 

God, just the thought of that was almost enough to send Carver over the edge. He wanted to say how hot he thought it was, the idea of Felix trying to go about his normal activities stretched around a toy, wincing and gasping slightly as it shifted while he moved. Or he could tell Felix he wanted him to do it again, maybe tell Carver ahead of time. Maybe they could go out like that, have dinner or a few drinks, knowing Felix was stuffed full as they went about their evening. Carver couldn’t find the words though, not now. Instead Carver just grunted with need, his pace getting faster despite his intention to go slow.

Felix whined. “Close. So close.” He thrashed his head from side to side, hands balled into fists. “Please.”

Carver knew that if he tightened his grip, Felix would come on the spot. But he didn’t. If anything, he loosening his fingers, providing the merest hint of friction, the only motion from Felix’s body jolting against him. He did, however, fuck Felix even harder, his hips snapping. “Say it again,” he grunted.

“Please,” Felix whined. “Please.”

Carver felt Felix’s climax around his cock before he felt it in his hand. Carver gave up the pretense and jerked Felix in earnest, feeling his own orgasm building as Felix fell apart. Felix was shuddering with aftershocks when it hit, Carver groaning as he hilted himself twice, hard. He fell forward, burying his face in the crook of Felix’s neck as his dick continued to twitch. 

After a moment of panting, he pulled out. “Be right back,” he mumbled, tottering to the bathroom. He dampened a hand towel for Felix after cleaning himself up. 

Felix was still laying on the bed in the same position, his eyes closed. He looked incredibly vulnerable, and Carver’s chest ached. Usually he’d hand the towel to Felix, let the man clean up himself, but this time he bent over him, carefully wiping all the spend from his stomach, and even more carefully wiping the excess lube from his ass.

Carver helped to shift Felix to lay properly on the bed, then curled next to him, pulling a single sheet over their bodies. “Are you okay?” 

“Mmm,” Felix nodded, smiling. “That was amazing.”

_ “You _ are amazing,” Carver said. “Was it too much?”

Felix shook his head. “It was perfect, love.”

Carver relaxed. He was pretty sure Felix was going to feel this tomorrow. Even if he wanted it in the moment, maybe he didn’t want to deal with the aftereffects. Or maybe he did. “Did you really….” He couldn’t bring himself to say anything specific about Felix’s afternoon activities.

There was a pause. “Does it bother you? That I did?”

Carver’s breath left all in a whoosh. “If you mean ‘bother’ like ‘hot and bothered’, then yes.”

Felix laughed, a throaty chuckle. “Duly noted.”

“You could… I mean, if you wanted to tell me, next time. I’d, uh, like to know about it.” Carver said. “Or you know. We could… I mean, you could wear it when we’re hanging out. If you want.”

With a shiver, Felix burrowed closer to him. “I was hoping to do that tonight, actually. I have it with me -- I was going to ask if you wanted me to, so you could just… take me,” he said in a rush, “but then we got talking about… other things, and… well.”

Carver cleared his throat, which had gone dry at the thought of just taking Felix. “I’d… yeah, that’d be… um. We should try that. Sometime.”

There was another pause. “In the interest of fairness, is there anything you’d like to, ah, try?” Felix asked. 

Maybe Carver needed some water, because his throat was suddenly dry again. “Well, now that you mention it, how do you feel about lab coats....?”

Felix’s laugh was incredibly naughty. Carver took that as a good sign.

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chowderfest!

The week leading up to the Chowderfest was, by any objective standard, brutal. Carver averaged four hours of sleep each night, and with the exception of whatever scraps of time he managed to throw food into his face, he didn’t get any breaks.

Practically everything went wrong. The axle on the water truck snapped on Sunday, for starters. He texted Varric in a panic, unsure where else he could turn. The mayor called in a favor, and Dagna was there the following day to fix it. But she needed parts, and what with one thing and then another, it wasn’t fixed until Tuesday night.

Some of the plants would be fine, but for others, like the celery, Carver had no choice but to water by hand, hauling five-gallon buckets from the house. It took a massive amount of time, pushing his other tasks well into the night. And then on Wednesday, the skies opened up. He knew it was coming, and had intended to pick a good amount of tomatoes ahead of time and let them ripen off the vine. Tomatoes were tricky -- too much water too fast could be disastrous.

But with the time crunch, he didn’t get a chance. By Thursday, after the sudden deluge, about three-quarters of the tomatoes had split their skins. They were still edible, but they looked awful and would need cold storage, which would ruin the flavor. A couple of frantic calls to Oghren, and they decided to can the damaged fruit -- better for chowder anyhow, Oghren said. But with the event looming on Sunday, and Oghren facing a busy weekend, it was up to Carver to do the cooking. Which he did, hauling himself from bed at 4:30 in the morning, to be done by the time the restaurant opened at noon. Then it was back to the farm to harvest the potatoes, onions, kale, peppers, carrots, and Maker-damned celery, not to mention get it sorted and washed and presentable for the event.

Felix had done as much as he could to help, but the bending over involved in harvesting veggies made him dizzy. Mostly he fretted and tried to keep Carver fed. When Sunday rolled around, Carver was barely functional. Varric had taken one look at him that morning and ordered him to go back home and sleep.

“But the grange display,” Carver objected. Everything felt vaguely dreamlike, aside from the sensation that he had gravel lodged on the inside of his eyelids.

“Oghren will take care of it. He knows how to display food, Junior,” Varric said, gesturing Cassandra over.

“Maker,” she frowned. “You look _terrible.”_

“Junior needs to rest,” Varric said gently, giving her a hard look. “You think you can take him home?”

Carver couldn’t fathom leaving. “But -- but I need to be here. To taste Felix’s soup. He’s so proud of his recipe, I need to --”

“I will make sure to bring you back in time. The judging does not begin for,” Cassandra checked her watch, “six hours. You must rest.”

“See? Plenty of time,” Varric said, smiling broadly, even as he guided a petulant and spaced-out Carver to Cassandra’s truck. “We won’t let you miss anything.”

Carver continued objecting, though he allowed himself to be helped into the cab of Cassandra’s truck. He was snoring before she made it out of the parking lot.

He awoke with a snort several hours later, with Merrill jostling his shoulder gently. “Oh good, you’re up,” she said, relieved. “Varric sent me to fetch you.”

Carver sat up and immediately regretted it. Before, he couldn’t really feel much of anything, but now every minute of lost sleep from the last week stood out in sharp detail. His head ached, his body ached, his eyes still had the gravel situation, and he was starving but also faintly nauseous. “Time is it?”

“Half-past one,” Merrill said, as if she was glad to know the answer. “Felix is busy cooking, but he said you should have all of these.” She pulled a grocery bag from the table, handing him a sports drink and a couple energy bars. “And two aspirin,” she added. “He said you’d have a headache.”

“I have an everything-ache,” Carver grunted, swinging his feet to the floor. “Nngh, where are my shoes? Wait, how did I get here?”

Merrill chirped her way through an explanation, helping him gather his shoes. She continued chatting at him as he swallowed the aspirin, chasing it with the sports drink and a power bar. Carver liked Merrill very much, he really did, but he wished they’d sent Fenris to get him. Much less talking that way.

A few minutes later, Merrill pulled into the parking lot at the beach, where the event was being held. It was _packed._ Dozens of tents, and there must’ve been a couple hundred people at least, all milling around and having a great time.

Carver hated to give up on feeling grumpy, especially since he’d damned well earned it, but he could see the festival was a huge success. From one of the tents near the entrance, Carver heard Felix call his name, and his bad mood lightened considerably.

He was already smiling as he turned, though the smile dimmed somewhat when he saw the crowd of people gathered. Felix was there, of course, stirring a pot at a cooking station. Dorian was with him, handing out samples and making his apron look good. But Cullen was there too, and Carver’s brother loitered off to one side looking uncomfortable. Which, granted, Carver was expecting at some point, but he was hoping he’d get a minute to brace himself first.

Before he could say anything, the PA system flared with a squelch of feedback. Varric’s voice came on a second later. “Alright folks! Judging begins in five minutes. Five minutes to grab your samples, and be sure to vote for your favorite! Head to the main tent in five minutes to watch us pick a winner!”

Carver hurried to cram his entry ticket into Felix’s ballot box to vote for fan favorite.

“You’re here!” Felix crowed, relief washing over his face, though not for long. As tired as Carver was, Felix looked miserable too; the stress of the competition was apparently too much for him. “Wait, you can’t vote for me, you haven’t even tasted it yet,” Felix fretted, handing him a cup of soup.

“I know it’s delicious,” Carver said, patently ignoring his brother hovering at the edge of the tent. Carver’s confidence in Felix held true; the chowder was superb. Felix had gone for a tomato-based broth, rather than cream, deciding it was too hot for heavy soups. It was heavenly, spicy and savory and not too rich, with both mussels and clams in a wine-laced broth. Carver ate his sample in two bites. “Am I allowed to have another? Maker, it’s spectacular.”

Felix bit his lip. “Not too much thyme, do you think? I’m still not sure about that.”

The PA system squawked again, exhorting the cooks to make their way to the main tent. Felix looked worried as he began to hurry away.

“It’s perfect,” Carver called after him. “Good luck! I love you!”

It wasn’t particularly surprising when Garrett pulling him aside a second later, nor was what he said next. “Carver. I owe you an apology. I never dreamed that this would be so much work for you. I thought I was doing you a favor. I’m so sorry I didn’t ask you first.”

Carver had thought a lot about how he was going to deal with Garrett when he saw him next. None of his carefully-planned out responses had taken into account his mind-numbing exhaustion, however. “Are you joking? Doing me a favor?” Carver hissed. “You just wanted to play hero.”

“Well….” The fact that Garrett wasn’t denying it was somewhat satisfying. “I thought it would be two birds with one stone. Look. Everyone here loves you. I just… I wanted to make sure they love me, too.”

Carver snorted. The truth was, as angry as he was at his brother, he wasn’t about to make it a permanent grudge. And he’d completely failed to consider it from Garrett’s side. Carver had only ever been the one to come second, to live in Garrett’s shadow. It never occurred to him that it could work the other way around, though quite frankly he wasn't convinced Garrett wasn't just making it up.

Plus, the damage, such as it was, was done. And Garrett was not a man without considerable resources of his own. Carver might not want to hold a petty grudge, but he wasn’t above milking the situation for a future favor or ten. “You owe me big time,” he grunted, jabbing his finger into the center of Garrett’s chest.

Garrett gave him a lopsided grin. “Thanks, brother.” He pulled Carver into a hug before he could protest. Then he pushed Carver to arm’s length a second later. “Just so you know, however many favors you think I owe you, subtract one.”

“What? Why?”

Garrett grinned. “I convinced mother not to come with me on this trip.”

Carver couldn’t help but laugh, and once he did, he felt a lot better. “I’ll give it to you. Come on, let’s get in there before Varric has a fit.”

Felix was in the audience, with an empty seat next to him. Carver tried to head in that direction, but from the dais, Varric called him out. “Oh no you don’t, Junior. Up here, with the rest of us.”

Blackwall and Oghren were to one side of the podium, in reserved seats. Carver saw his name on the back of a chair. Maker, really? He wasn’t even dressed properly. Why hadn’t anyone told him he had to be up front? It was entirely possible they had and he’d forgotten in the rush to get everything done. Self-consciously trying to flatten his hair, he took his seat. On the other side of the podium, Garrett sat next to a man in a tie that looked vaguely familiar, though Carver couldn’t quite place him.

“Alright, time for the good stuff,” Varric said. The prize ceremony began.

“Varric is in full mayor-mode, I see,” Blackwall muttered. “Andraste’s knickers, but the man likes to hear himself talk.”

“He’s showing off for the Governor,” Oghren said.

“That’s the Governor?” Carver whispered, craning his neck. He’d never seen the man outside of a newspaper photo.

Suddenly everyone was clapping, so Carver joined in. Aveline stepped onto the dais to accept her prize as honorable mention for her corn-and-crab chowder.

Carver focused on the ceremony. He watched Felix in the audience, still biting his lip. Varric continued to call out names for third- and second-prize, and Felix’s face filled with dismay when he wasn’t called up. Fan favorite was next, which Isabela won handily. Given the skimpiness of her outfit, and the fact that each cup of soup came with a free smooch, that was hardly surprising.

Still, Carver was disappointed on Felix’s behalf. He couldn’t fathom why he hadn’t won _something;_ the soup had been amazing.

“Before I give out the top prize, I’d like to thank a few people,” Varric said. “First and foremost, Blackwall, for working overtime with his crew yesterday and the day before to catch all the fish. We’re truly blessed to have such a skilled fisherman in our midst. And thanks to Oghren for donating all the kitchen equipment and for acting as head judge. And to the Governor --”

As Varric droned on, Carver fought to keep from scowling. Not that he’d expected accolades, but a simple thank you would’ve been nice. Of course, _he_ wouldn’t be thanked, oh no. All he’d done was work himself to the bone for the last month. He slumped in his chair, wiping at his eyes.

“And finally, I want to thank the man without whom none of this would’ve been possible,” Varric said. “Really the backbone of the whole operation.”

Carver sighed. Of course it was Garrett getting the praise; what else was new? Well it _had_ been his idea, after all.

“Small towns everywhere have it tough. It’s hard for little businesses to compete, and I think we all know how hard our little town has been hit. When the Community Center closed, it was difficult enough. And then when we lost our local source for fruits and vegetables….” Varric shook his head. “That makes it sound so trivial, but it really wasn’t. I know that almost all of our residents were saddened when the Amell farm went fallow.” he paused, his jaw working. “There’s only so many cornerstones a community can lose before disintegrating altogether, and I know I’m not the only one who started to feel like maybe this was it for us.”

Carver stared into his lap. Felix had told him how much Amell had meant to the residents individually, but now he was hearing about what his grandfather meant in a larger sense. It never occurred to him what kind of impact he’d had on the community as a whole. Again, it made sense that Varric was making such a big deal about Garrett; it was his brother’s job to help communities grow and prosper, and the village certainly needed his help. The Governor’s presence was clearly his doing, and that could be a major help the next time Varric applied for grants.

Varric was still talking. “So when this man came to town, I know I was more than a little impressed. That someone would take a chance on us, invest the time and effort --”

Carver fought the urge to roll his eyes. _Laying it on a bit thick, there, Mayor._ Garrett couldn’t possibly have invested _that_ much time into planning this little shindig, even if he was doing it for free.

“-- not to mention blood, sweat, and tears…. Well. It got me to thinking maybe things aren’t so hopeless after all. Which is why I want to commend Carver Hawke --”

Carver’s head shot up, looking around in confusion, the motion obvious enough that a titter ran through the audience.

“Not only has he personally grown AND harvested every last vegetable you’ve eaten today, but he’s single-handedly revived our farmer’s market and insured that every resident in town has access to a full variety of healthy fruits and vegetables, grown right here in our soil. Not to mention the finest pickles in the tri-county area. Junior, get up here.” Varric gestured him up to the podium as everyone applauded.

In a daze, Carver did as he was told. Garrett was grinning madly, and Felix looked fit to burst with pride. Varric said a few more things that Carver barely heard, then stepped to the side to shake his hand, making sure that the local reporters got a good photo. Then the Governor got up and did the same thing, murmuring congratulations to him.

Carver stumbled back to his seat, blushing like an idiot. “Good man,” Blackwall nodded, chuffing him on the shoulder.

“Alright, alright, settle down. I know you’re all dying to hear who won this little contest. I’m going to call our guest of honor up to do the, well, the honors,” Varric said, holding a hand out to the Governor.

Carver was awash in heady elation. He barely heard the Governor thanking Varric for the opportunity, or the joke he made about eating so much soup. Carver was too busy trying not to grin like an idiot. He’d never felt so welcomed in all his life. If he left, they would miss him -- not just Felix, but the town as a whole. This was where he _belonged._

The Governor unfolded the scrap of paper on the dais. “And first prize goes to… Felix Alexius.”

The tent erupted with applause. Carver leapt to his feet, clapping wildly, only realizing after a moment that perhaps he should try to maintain some semblance of impartiality. Well, screw that. Felix came up to collect his award, shaking hands with the Governor. Once that was done, Carver pulled him to the side, kissing him on the forehead. The clapping on grew louder as Felix flushed.

Emboldened, Carver stepped to the side and commandeered the microphone. “I swear, he didn’t get first pick of the celery or anything.”

Laughter joined the applause in the tent. Felix was shaking his head and smiling up at him. Carver wasn’t sure he’d ever been happier.

There was a party afterwards, of course. Dorian and Cullen hosted, and it was a somewhat chaotic affair, much like the first time Carver had been there after the Egg Festival. Maker, was it really only five months ago? It seemed like a lifetime.

Despite his nap, Carver was still bone-tired. He ended up sitting on the couch, watching the others laugh and talk. Much as before, Isabela commandeered the bar, making drinks for everyone and occasionally sending an affectionate wink towards Merrill. There were some differences from last time, though. Anders and Fenris were bickering at the bar, but now Carver noticed they were standing entirely too close for it to be friendly. Cassandra wasn’t reading, though she was secreted away in a corner, having what seemed to be a very personal conversation with Varric. Huh. Well, good for them. The sound of Bull’s laugh boomed throughout the room, and Carver saw him slapping Garrett on the back while Dorian and Cullen shared a smile he was pretty sure he wasn’t meant to see. Certainly nothing he wanted to think about, anyway. And this time, Carver didn’t feel guilty as his gaze inevitably wandered back to Felix, though his heart still fluttered a little when Felix smiled at him.

After an hour or so, Felix came over and sat beside him, taking his hand and lacing their fingers together. “You look tired, love. Shall we go soon?”

“I’m fine,” Carver said. “And this party is for you, really. You and your amazing soup.”

Felix laughed. “I may never eat another bowl of the stuff again. Do you know how many practice batches I made?”

“What? But I barely got to eat any,” Carver whined.

Felix laughed. “Don’t worry. I froze most of it. There’s plenty waiting for you.”

Carver nodded in satisfaction. He did want to leave -- he was tired enough to fall asleep where he sat -- but he was also incredibly comfortable. Not just physically, but in every way.

“Is this what you pictured when you moved here?” Felix asked.

“Not even close. I didn’t picture anything, to be honest. I just wanted out of my old life. I never thought I’d find….” With his free hand he gestured at the room, trying to include everything -- friends and family and community and purpose, all wrapped together -- just as much a home as the one-room shack or the dew-kissed fields. He struggled to find the words. “I never thought I would be this happy,” he said finally, wishing he could put it better.

Felix was watching him, his face soft and hopeful, and he smiled. “I’m glad you are,” he said. “This is a good place. Better with you in it.”

Carver tried to say something reciprocal, but he ended up giving a jaw-cracking yawn. “Sorry,” he laughed.

“Come on,” Felix said, rising to his feet. “Let’s get you home.”

 _I already am,_ Carver thought.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THEY LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER
> 
> ***
> 
> Thank you to everyone who indulged me in this ridiculous AU, and for a rarepair, no less. I had WAY too much fun writing these guys, so don't count out more about them in the future. :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Vignettes from "Sow the Fallow Field"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11019555) by [athos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/athos/pseuds/athos)




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